Retribution
by Cat Jenkins
Summary: 'Evolution' came first, then 'Devolution.' Part 3: 'Retribution.' Reid marries. In prison, Bescardi waits. Reid becomes a father. Bescardi knows. Finally in possession of the life he's always wanted, Reid must face the terrible fact that, the more you have, the more you can lose. And there's still something not quite right with Hotch...
1. Groom

"Help me, Hotch."

Spencer Reid had become unaccountably clumsy. His fingers wouldn't obey. Time was running out. Perspiration threatened to erupt from his pores.

_I __**know**__ how to do this! Why isn't it working?!_ But the intricacies of maneuvering the silk fabric defeated his best efforts.

The tie refused to cooperate.

"I got it." Reid's best man stepped in. If there was anyone in the world who could claim mastery over ties, and the art of making them behave, it was Aaron Hotchner. With long, deft fingers and a few precise movements, he transformed the mischievous swatch of charcoal gray into a perfect bow. Giving it a final tug to make sure it was centered, Hotch stepped back and nodded toward the floor length mirror leaning against the cabin wall.

Battling with the tie had robbed Reid of his grin. Now, as he looked at himself…and the symmetrical bow at his neck…the grin returned. "Thanks, Hotch."

The older man stepped closer. They looked each other up and down, then glanced at the mirror where both were now reflected, along with twin smiles stretching ever wider.

"Damn. We look good."

A tap at the door preceded the creak as it opened.

"'Hot', Spence. You guys look 'hot'." J.J. peered around the corner and felt a little thrill of happiness for her friend. She looked on Reid as a gifted, but slightly awkward little brother. At one time she'd thought he had a bit of a crush on her and had dreaded the possibility she'd have to talk with him about the inadvisability of such a thing. But it had turned into a fond sibling-like relationship, preserving their mutual respect and dignity.

And then, they'd hit a rough patch. All of them, not just Reid and J.J. The whole team.

Reid had been concealing just how remarkable his brain really was. ESP. It had thrown them all a curve. _But we came through it. Stronger. Better. Closer._ J.J. felt the constriction midway between her heart and stomach that meant sentimental tears were lurking in the wings. She let her eyes fill. After all, crying was part of the fun of being at a wedding.

She stepped all the way into the cabin. It was the men's turn to express admiration.

Hotch's eyes tilted upward as his smile reached them. "J.J., you're beautiful. Really."

"Wow. Yeah. Beautiful." Reid's nervous anticipation had not only made him clumsy with ties, it had deprived him of his normally indefatigable verbal abilities as well.

"Thanks. You should see your bride." J.J. had helped Reid's intended, Ana, into her gown and had seen the final product with hair and makeup by Garcia. Prentiss' contribution had been to supply the 'something borrowed, something blue.' A satiny, midnight blue garter whose provenance Emily refused to reveal, although she did go so far as to say it could double as a fertility charm, if the newlyweds wanted to start a family right away. The glint in her eye made the others wary of asking too many questions. Prentiss was something of a wild card.

"How's everybody doing?" Hotch shot his cuffs and checked their cufflinks one more time, wondering when the groom's nerves were _really_ going to start working on him.

"Great. Morgan and Rossi are seating everyone. Ana's maid of honor is really nice. And her bridesmaids, of course, are reasonably well behaved. Even Emily."

"How's my mom doing?" Reid had more than just his role as husband-to-be on his mind.

Diana Reid had to be watched a little more closely than the normal mother-of-the-groom. Knowing her phobia about flying, Reid had made the trip west from Quantico early so he could escort her from Las Vegas to Needles himself via rental car. He'd kept a close watch on her to make sure she took her meds and didn't wander into any situations that might prove troublesome for a paranoid schizophrenic. Most grooms were occupied enough with their brides and the demands of the ceremony itself. Reid had had the extra burden of his mother.

Hotch had done his best to help out, but Mrs. Reid didn't trust the tall, dark man with the glaring eyes. She wanted her sweet Spencer. And Reid had endless patience with her. In truth, he'd never quite recovered from having her committed in the first place when he was only eighteen. His brain told him it was the right thing to do. His heart broke and the chasm that opened as they took her away had never quite closed. He was also very aware that Hotch had volunteered to return his mother to Las Vegas after the ceremony, allowing the newlyweds to have a honeymoon. But psychotically suspicious Mrs. Reid might not want to travel with the man she shrank from, claiming he had 'government eyes'…the kind that spied out people's secrets.

Reid sighed. That would be a hurdle to overcome, but, first things first. _Worry about remembering your vows and not passing out and…and…and…_

"You mom's fine, Spence. Morgan seated her and she's acting like any momma about to lose her son to another woman. Kinda proud. Kinda sad. Kinda loves you a lot."

It was just what Reid needed to hear. He took a deep breath and nodded. "Thanks, J.J."

"I better head back. Just wanted to see how you guys were doing." She glanced at her watch and gave two of her favorite men another appraising look. "You really do look great."

As she exited, Morgan poked his head in the door. "Wow. You dudes clean up all right." He joined Hotch and Reid for a quick check on his own appearance in the mirror. "Hotch, you better get him out there. It's almost time."

Reid swallowed. "I'm really doing this. I'm getting married. Me." He turned stunned eyes on his friends and some of what little color he had drained away. Hotch and Morgan exchanged looks, sharing complicit smiles. They'd been waiting for the nerves to hit, and they'd already decided what to say.

Morgan went first.

Stepping up to face Reid directly, he placed his hands on his shoulders, holding him in place and forcing him to pay attention. "Pretty, Pretty Boy. Ever since that time Hotch and Haley brought Jack in to meet the team for the first time, I've known your secret; the one you never talk about, but can't hide." Reid's eyebrows rose, attention captured. "You looked at our big, bad boss-man holding that little baby and you saw how happy he was. And you saw how Haley was looking at both of them. And, again, how happy he was. We all saw it. You looking at Hotch, and thinking you'd like the same things: a kid, a woman who loved you…a family, 'cause you never really had one growing up.

"That's when I started trying to help you; teaching you about picking up and hooking up and playing the game. But that wasn't what you wanted. You wanted the real thing, not the hunt, not the chase. So, damned if I know how you did it, but you went out and got yourself…the real thing."

Morgan stepped aside and Hotch took his place, brushing the groom's lapels and straightening a tie that was already perfect.

"Reid, because of what we've been through…you, me, and Ana…I think I can say I know you two together better than anyone else." Hotch looked directly into the slightly panicked eyes before him. Reid saw complete, open honesty and a vulnerability that touched him, reminded him of the strange, psychic bond the three had shared. That Ana and Hotch _still_ shared in a watered-down version of the strong connection he and Ana enjoyed.

"Reid, you guys don't just fit together. You interlock." He looked down for a moment. When his eyes returned to the groom's, Reid saw pain had joined the honesty and vulnerability. "You know it didn't work out for Haley and me. But you and Ana are so bonded, I can't imagine either one of you without automatically seeing the other. I think that's just going to deepen and strengthen with time. Reid, I think you're gonna make it work."

A slow smile began on Hotch's lips, then stretched upward to his eyes. "And even with how things went bad for me in _my_ marriage, it was worth it. Every minute was worth it. It gave me the best and the worst times of my life. Thing is, Reid…I'd do it again in a heartbeat. The best and the worst. That's what makes life rich. From where I stand, I think you're gonna be a very rich man. I kind of envy you."

Reid studied the sincerity in Hotch's unguarded face.

"Okay." He drew in a steadying lungful of courage. "Thanks, guys." He took one last look in the mirror.

"Let's do this."


	2. Bride

Ana picked up her bouquet and felt…everything. Too much. Much too much.

Somehow she'd known this day would come from the moment she met Spencer. But now that it was here, she was full of conflicts and contradictions. She wanted her wedding day to be over; all the fuss in the past, so they could have the memories, but be done with the planning and the emotional turmoil and everyone looking at them. At the same time, she wanted this day to last forever.

_I'm happy. I'm so completely, unequivocally, insanely happy. And terrified. And I don't know why._ She felt a touch in her mind like a warm hug, and knew who it was.

_Me, too. I'm scared and I hope I don't do anything dumb to wreck the ceremony and I'm so, so happy. And I love you._

_I love you so much. I can't wait to see you, Spencer._

_Same here. J.J. says you're beautiful…like I didn't already know that. _She caught the smile in his thoughts.

_Do you think it's weird I wanted to do this outdoors…in the woods? I mean, after all the bad things that have happened in places like this?_

His reply was strong and firm and allowed no doubts to intrude on their day. _Absolutely not. This place is perfect. It's us. Forests are part of our history. Who we are._

Ana had wanted her wedding to take place in the untouched wilderness surrounding her hometown of Needles, California. But it was in just such a location that her little sister Sarah had been buried alive by the serial killer who'd been the reason Reid and the rest of the BAU had come to town in the first place. Sarah had died in the local hospital, but her torment had begun in woods. Forested terrain had also figured prominently in Hotch's near-death when she and Reid had been lab specimens in demented Dr. Carol Bescardi's bid for fame in the field of psychic research.

She didn't know why, but when marrying Spencer went from notion to imminent reality, the first thing Ana had envisioned was a ceremony among towering, old growth trees with the heady scent of pine and the sounds of birdsong and wind surrounding them. When she'd voiced her doubts to her fiancé, he'd reminded her that there was also good in the woods. There was a strange, small community isolated in the wilds, where Hotch's life had been saved twice and where the couple had discovered they weren't alone. There were others like them. The town at the edge of the great northern, primeval forest, so removed from civilization, had sprung up around a hospital, a sanctuary for psychics.

It, and the people who ran it, outweighed the bad. As far as Reid was concerned, they rebalanced the scales on how forests should be judged.

_Hotch is telling me it's time. We're going out now. You ready?_

He felt her almost musical trill of amusement. _How many times must I say it, Spencer? Where you go, I go, too._

_See you soon, Ana._

_Soon._

xxxxxxxxxxx

Ana's maid of honor had been her childhood friend. One of the few.

When little Ana's empathic talent appeared and grew, it isolated her. No one liked being around strange Ana Ashcroft, who knew too much about what you were feeling, who always seemed to be a little distracted in a world of her own.

Except for Cindy Mason.

One day Cindy had ridden her bike to a meadow where she could be alone and vent her seven-year-old sorrows privately. Her parents were separating. It hurt. Too young to be able to verbalize why, Cindy just let the inexplicable pain take her.

Miles away, Ana felt the stab of distress. Like a spike in the graph of emotions that she could always perceive emanating from the small population of her hometown, she knew this was different. Her kind heart couldn't ignore it. So Ana went in search of the source. When she found her classmate Cindy, she didn't ask why and she didn't say anything standard like 'don't cry' or 'it'll be okay' or 'what's wrong.' She propped her own bike next to Cindy's, sat beside her in the tall, summer grass, and simply said the truth.

"I know what you're feeling. I know how much it hurts. I know."

Through her tears and sniffles, Cindy had looked at the outcast girl no one played with or invited to sleep-overs. There was no judgment or discomfort. There was only recognition and acceptance…and a compassion that overlooked all previous slights Cindy might have inflicted on Ana in the name of peer pressure, of group mentality.

Ana's company was just what Cindy needed. The two girls split the day between companionable silences and sharing confidences. When light began to recede from the sky and Cindy's quarreling parents were beginning to get worried, their daughter showed up with a new friend in tow. When they asked her where she'd been all day, she said, "With Ana. She's my BFF."

And they were.

When Ana asked her childhood friend who now lived in L.A. to come back to Needles and be her maid of honor, Cindy didn't hesitate. She closed down the small vintage clothing boutique she owned and stepped into her role with genuine joy.

Now, Cindy looked at her friend and couldn't stop smiling. No one ever thought weird-girl Ana would find someone to marry. But she had. And he was sweet and kind and brilliant and handsome in a boyish sort of way. Perfect.

Ana's bridesmaids, on the other hand, were an odd trio.

One was an explosion of color and glitter and spangles. Putting on the lace-trimmed, beaded silver-celadon gown the color of rain was actually dressing _down_ for her! But she _had_ done a magnificent job with Ana's makeup and hair.

Another was dark and predatory-looking. She was a slinky marvel in the bridesmaid's gown, but the aura of danger and unpredictability that surrounded her made Cindy think she was an infiltrator, working undercover in the ceremony. Still, she was a good physical match for the best man's dark, brooding quality. They would balance each other well in the wedding pictures and flanking the bride and groom while they exchanged vows.

The third was odd just because she was so normal compared to the other two. Almost _too _normal. Almost _too_ competent. Blond and sweet-faced, she was a natural at defusing nervous situations like missing boutonnières or clashing nail polish colors, and she kept the communication going between the groomsmen and the bride's party with effortless grace.

Then there was Ana. Cindy looked at her and was so proud of her friend. Her _beautiful_ friend.

In an unbroken spill of candlelight satin, hair entwined with narrow ribbons and tiny, pale flowers, the bride stood still with a look in her eyes that said she wasn't quite present. The bridesmaids seemed to understand when Ana fell into these spells of quiet. Cindy would see them exchange smiles and furtive glances. No explanation was offered, so the maid of honor didn't push for one. But she did get a chill when Ana snapped out of it and addressed her bridal party with a beaming smile.

"Spencer's going out. It's time."

_How does she know that?_ She'd always thought of Ana as intuitive. Since the first day they'd met, she'd appreciated her friend's availability when she needed someone to talk to, and her extraordinary compassion. But something else was going on here. J.J. caught her eye and gave a tiny headshake. Cindy responded with an equally subtle nod.

_Doesn't matter what's going on. This is Ana's day. And I'm glad for her. And I love her._

_And it's time._


	3. Vows

There was no altar.

There was only the wilderness, and the wind, and a sense of expectation.

There was also a very nervous bridegroom.

Reid stood in the clearing awaiting the arrival of his fianceé. Hotch stood beside him, fulfilling his duties, which, at the moment, were focused on keeping the groom upright. Morgan and Rossi were a little further off to the side, watching their leader's efforts.

"Breathe, Reid." Hotch's _sotto voce_ order helped, but not enough. Reid's lungs still refused to fill. He felt Hotch's hand against his back, rubbing vertical lines of comfort. "You're about to start on the best part of your life. You're a lucky man." The deep, rumbling whisper hardly registered over the shrill tones of inner panic.

Reid didn't mean to do what happened next. He was on the verge of hyperventilating, or fainting, or throwing up. His mind's first instinct was to reach out to Ana, but he didn't want to inflict his anxiety on her. And he didn't want her to know how terrified he was, because it didn't make any sense. He _wanted_ to marry her more than anything. There was no reason for his lungs to be paralyzed. So his telepathic brain tried to stifle itself and ended up lashing out anyway and latching onto the closest target…his best man.

Reid realized in less than a heartbeat what he'd done and struggled to pull back. Too late. He heard Hotch's sudden intake of breath, lungs filling to capacity in a way Reid envied.

_My God! Hotch! I'm sorry!_

He got the impression from the Unit Chief of mental panting and a burst of fear. It was suppressed just as quickly. So quickly that before Reid could vacate, Hotch 'spoke.'

_It's okay. I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay._

_Spencer! What are you doing?! Get away from him!_ It was Ana. Reid winced. Of course she'd reached out to check on Hotch. She'd been doing it ever since they left that elderly doctor and his secret, little sanctuary for ESP-ers. _He's doing that 'I'm okay' thing. You KNOW what that means!_

Reid pulled back with an effort. Hotch's hand had stopped moving against his back. He reached and slipped an arm around Hotch's waist, steadying him.

_Ana, I'm out. I've got him. Is he alright? _"Hotch, I'm sorry! Are you really okay?" Reid's concerned whisper wasn't audible to the guests. The breeze and other sounds of the outdoors masked it. "C'mon, Hotch. I know what that chant means when you keep _saying_ you're okay. You're trying to convince yourself. So tell me now: are you _really_ okay?"

Ana's mind-touch caressed what she knew was their best friend's normal, non-psychic brain. _Spencer, I think he's just a little shocked. I don't feel anything…bad._ After a hesitant heartbeat, Reid heard her again. _He's not hurt. I don't feel anything but surprise. I don't think he even needs me to calm him down. I think we dodged a bullet. __**He**__ did, anyway._

"You can let go of me, Reid." Hotch's breath was still a little ragged, but there was a touch of humor in his voice. "I'm the one who's supposed to be supporting _you_, remember?"

Reid retracted his arm. "Sorry, Hotch. I didn't mean to do that."

"Later. It's starting. Your bride's on her way."

Reid looked up and lost what little ability to breathe he'd been able to salvage once he'd known Hotch was fine.

The three bridesmaids and the maid of honor approached from different directions, seeming to materialize out of the evening forest. Although tiny, pale fairy lights had been wreathed and twined among foliage, the evening glade was still dimly lit. There was something atmospheric, and ghostly, and insubstantial about the women coming toward him in their shimmery, subtly-colored gowns. They assembled opposite the men. From the far side of the clearing, Ana made her entrance on the arm of her father, the shimmer of an aura only Reid could see bathed her in misty gold.

When they were planning their wedding, Ana had said she wanted to walk in to classical music. For the rest of the ceremony, she'd liked an instrumental version of Omnia's 'Fairy Tale.' But in consideration of the evening hour, the wooded location and the somewhat enchanted, somewhat strange feeling she wanted to evoke, she'd drawn on Mendelssohn's 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' for her signature sound. Reid had laughed when she'd listened to the entire incidental score and chosen a grand total of one minute, ten seconds as the music that would accompany her as she walked down the aisle to join her fiancé. She'd recorded and spliced the music that began ten minutes and fifty seconds into the full ballet score and ended a little over a minute later. Ana was determined to get it right.

Now, as Reid watched her make her way toward him with dignified pace, he had to admit the combination of place and music was…perfect. It made him shiver. Standing beside him, Hotch had the same reaction.

Reid whispered for his best man's ears only. "My God, Hotch. Look at her. What did I do to deserve someone like that?"

Hotch's low reply was just as private. "I know. She's…stunning." And then the best man said something that comforted and reassured his incredulous groom. "You guys look like you belong together. A perfect match."

A wave of disbelief washed over Reid. _No way. She's gorgeous. Beautiful. Like Hotch said… 'stunning.' I'm, well, I'm just…_

_Handsome. So, so handsome. Oh, Spencer. Look at you! What did I do to deserve someone like you?!_

The bride's and groom's eyes locked, and everything was just the way it should be. Suddenly, there was oxygen in the world again. Reid could breathe.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Lit candles surrounded the area where the couple would say their vows. When the officiating minister announced they had written their own and stepped back, Reid and Ana were the focal point. Touched by the mellow glow of flickering flames, they faced each other. Reid began.

"There's something so strange about the way we met and the path we've traveled. There's no one to show us the way. It's just you and me. It's going to be hard sometimes. We already know that. But if you'll walk that path with me, I can do it. And I'll never let go of your hand, if you give me the right to hold it. Until death and beyond, Ana. This is forever."

_I love you, Ana. Look into my mind, my heart. It's as simple and as extraordinary as that: I love you._

In her slim sheath of satin, the bride looked like a candle herself. Light poured off of her, seeming to be kindled by her.

"Spencer, I wished for an impossible love, and here you are. In the middle of loss, you brought me the richest treasures life can offer. Treasures of the soul. There's no one else I want by my side, or in my heart, or in my mind. You complete me. You make me believe in impossible things. You make me stronger and better. The only place I've ever really belonged is with you. My hand only feels right when it's in yours. Until death and beyond, Spencer. This is forever.

_I love you. Where you go, I go, too. Always._

The minister stepped close once more. He watched as simple, gold bands were exchanged. The final words were spoken.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride."

As Spencer officially claimed Ana with a kiss, a vagrant, night breeze rose, extinguishing some of the candles, letting the faint sparkle of fairy lights mark where a union some might call magical had been made. When the kiss ended, Ana looked up into her husband's eyes.

_Sarah's here._

xxxxxxxxxxx

In a prison cell thousands of miles away, the sound of paper tearing was loud in the silence immediately preceding lights-out.

Carol Bescardi, no longer a doctor, was now a collector. A collector of information. She had subscribed to local newspapers from Quantico, Las Vegas, New York City and Needles, California. She had also bookmarked websites related to all three locations. She frequently searched them on the prison library computers, cross-referencing with the names 'Reid' and 'Ashcroft.' The websites hadn't provided much, but the paper from Needles, which reached her several days after the date of publication, was another story.

Finally, she'd struck paydirt.

Scissors weren't allowed, so prisoner Bescardi tore along the edges of the article as carefully as if her life depended on doing a neat and tidy job. A _scientific _job.

It was a wedding announcement. Ashcroft-Reid.

It was the perfect addition to her collection of clippings and printouts squirrelled away under the lumpy pallet that passed for a mattress.

She had thirteen more years to serve. _But with time off for good behavior, I might make parole in ten…maybe even less._

_After all, what I did wasn't so __**very**__ bad. It was that stupid FBI agent's fault he got lost in the woods. Ridiculous watchdog shouldn't have been at my lab to begin with._ Bescardi smiled and sent up a heartfelt wish for the newlyweds.

_Have children. Right away. For me. You owe me that…_


	4. Reception in Shades of Green

Reid's and Ana's reception took place at a more civilized venue than the glade where they'd exchanged vows.

The guests fit comfortably into Ana's parents' home. And Garcia always went a little mad when the subject was food. She'd assumed the duties of catering like an avenging force determined to balance the rustic setting of the ceremony with one of extreme opulence for the reception.

Hors d'oeuvres, petit fours, and a buffet that included everything from Beef Wellington to pigs-in-a-blanket to Chicken Kiev to a twenty-four-foot-long sandwich presided over the gathering. The three bridesmaids stood together and watched with feminine tolerance as the males in the group gathered around the more basic, less frilly fare. The sandwich was popular.

"Animals." Prentiss sipped a flute of champagne as she passed judgment on what she considered ample evidence that men occupied a lower rung on the evolutionary ladder than those _not_ inflicted with an overabundance of testosterone.

J.J. nodded and sighed. "I'm tellin' you, ladies: women are cake and wine; men are stale bread and beer."

Garcia tilted her head to one side, considering the division before the buffet that ran along gender lines. "Maybe it's just that they're utensil-challenged. Ever notice that men gravitate toward anything they can eat that doesn't require silverware?"

"Hmmmmm. You may be on to something."

Prentiss considered the possibility. "I do know several who can't seem to get the hang of silverware even when it's _not_ optional."

Talk ceased, but smiles widened as their Unit Chief approached, large slice of sandwich in hand.

"Sir, you look so…so…" Garcia groped for an appropriate adjective. "…so double-oh-sevenish!"

Hotch smiled around his mouthful of cheese and sliced meats. "I don't know about that, but you guys look beautiful. Almost didn't recognize you when you first came out with Ana."

Prentiss reached over and brushed some crumbs from her boss' lapel. "Thanks, Hotch. I gotta say, though, I'd recognize you anywhere."

Hotch sensed some verbal sparring in the offing. Pitting himself against the alpha female of the team was something he rarely got to enjoy. But considering the social setting and non-business atmosphere, he let himself pursue whatever was lurking behind Prentiss' mischievous grin.

"Because a suit's a suit? Even if it's a little fancier today?"

"Noooo. Not exactly." She repeated the crumb-dusting on his other lapel. "Nope. It's the eyes. Can't hide the eyes. Dead giveaway. At least, that's what Reid's mom says."

"What? What'd she say?" Hotch was keenly aware of Diana Reid's dislike.

"Something about the history of wolves dressing up. You know: as sheep, or in a flannel nightie as some poor, unsuspecting, little girl's granny. That kind of thing. Not fooling anyone, Hotch."

"Hmmmmm." He made a show of licking his chops, giving his sandwich a fond look. "Really great job on the spread, Garcia." He cast a wistful look over his shoulder at the tables groaning under their delectable, edible burden. "Just one thing missing…"

The tech analyst's eyes widened in concern. She thought she'd covered all her bases and provided something for everyone. "Wha…what? What's missing, sir?"

"Meat. Raw meat. Nothing like a little rrrrraw meat after a wedding…" With a sidelong glance, her boss bared his teeth, tore into his sandwich, and wandered away, trailing barely discernible growling noises in his wake.

While J.J. and Garcia tried to muffle their laughter, Prentiss watched Hotch retreat through half-lowered lids.

_I wonder if there was any double entendre meant by 'raw meat' and post-wedding activities…like consummation?_

When Hotch looked back and briefly caught her eye, he had a very small, very wicked grin.

_Oh, yeah. He meant it. Good one, Hotch. You win this round._

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Rossi and Morgan kept a sympathetic watch over the newlyweds.

Surrounded by well-wishers, buried beneath congratulations, Reid and Ana looked a bit overwhelmed. When the whites of Reid's eyes began to show too much, his friends rescued him. Shouldering their way to the couple, Rossi extracted the groom from a group composed almost exclusively of Ana's guests. Reid didn't really have much more than his mother, his team, and a couple of his mother's friends who knew her son mainly through the tales with which proud, doting Mrs. Reid regaled them. The young agent had chosen not to invite his father. He still held onto some resentment and anger left over from childhood when Mr. Reid had abandoned his ten-year-old, leaving him the sole caretaker of his mentally ill mother.

"Mind if we borrow your husband for a minute?" Morgan whispered close to Ana's ear. She gave Reid an understanding look and nodded. After all, she knew these people better than he did. It was easier for her to engage in small talk with them. Morgan and Rossi pulled him free of the small crowd.

The three men retreated to a corner of the refreshment table that was relatively private.

"How ya doin', kid?"

"I'm…I'm _married_. I did it. I can't believe…wow." He was unaware of the older agents smiling behind his back. They were genuinely happy for him, but it was fun to see their resident genius thrown off track and reduced to babbling. Especially when the catalyst was a joyous occasion. "I'm married. Rossi?" Reid turned to confront the oldest and most-married member of his team. "Am I doing everything I'm supposed to? I'm kind of out of it. Have I missed anything?"

Rossi grinned, knowing the questions were born of the exhaustion and emotional toll that weddings imposed upon the main two participants. "Right now, you're supposed to enjoy your reception. Then, you go on your honeymoon. And _then_ you make decisions about family." He leaned over and kissed Reid's forehead. "And _then_ you live happily ever after."

Spencer stared at him, and finally the shocked look waned, replaced by the kind of truly blissful smile that comes rarely in a lifetime. Morgan watched his friend look around, his eyes settling on Hotch who, sandwich in hand, was across the room talking to the bridesmaids. And he knew Reid was once again seeing their tough, alpha boss introducing them to his son, staring down at the tiny newborn in his hands. Scared and happy, and with the exact same grin on his face that now graced Reid's.

But Rossi saw Reid's joy diminish just a bit as he watched Hotch.

"What's bothering you, Reid?"

"Nothing."

Morgan's and Rossi's eyes met, each verifying the other's impression that the groom was covering something up.

"There's something you should know now that you're married…" Rossi's voice was serious, almost severe, demanding attention and a truthful response. "We're not just random guests here, Reid. We're the people you'll turn to over the course of your marriage when you hit rough patches. And believe me…there _will_ be rough patches. We're the ones who know you best, who'll help you the most."

"Get used to it, Pretty Boy. We're your family. So we're gonna be all up in your business starting now. What's on your mind?"

Reid blinked and came to the decision to talk. "It's Hotch."

"Hotch?" Rossi was genuinely puzzled. "What about him?"

Morgan frowned. "There was something while you guys were waiting for Ana to come down the aisle. He kind of wavered a little. Is that it?"

"Partly." Reid was still watching the Unit Chief across the room. "I, uh…I kind of panicked. And I went into his mind…like I'm not supposed to. You know?"

Rossi knew all too well. The memory of Hotch's life-threatening ordeal due to Reid's mind-touch was still fresh. "Is he okay? Are you guys still wearing those bracelet things?"

Hearing the urgency in the older man's questions made Reid feel even worse about his inadvertent invasion of Hotch's psyche. "We took the bracelets off a couple weeks ago. I thought it was time." Reid could still hear the warnings from the elderly doctor who ran the hospital that had saved Hotch when his brain had become a receptacle for Reid's mental leavings…the ghosts that the Palero priest, Julio Ruiz, had seen in him. Ruiz had used his own mental powers to imbue bracelets with protection for Hotch and Reid; charms that would prevent any mental cross-over between the two agents. The Palero had also said that Reid would know when the time was right, when he could stop wearing the beaded amulet. So the young agent repeated, "I thought it was time."

Morgan gripped Reid's arm. "Is Hotch okay? Did it hurt him?"

"No. I think he's fine. It was only for a second." He looked down at the floor. "Ana was there. She made sure I left and Hotch was good."

Once again, the older agents' eyes connected over Reid's bent head. They suspected they knew what was _really_ bothering the groom. Rossi's voice was gentle as he explored the possibility of jealously having reared its head.

"And you don't like that your fiancée and one of your best friends, not to mention your boss, have this connection."

"My _wife_, Rossi. She's my wife now."

"And that makes it even worse." Morgan sounded sad.

Reid looked up. When he saw understanding and sympathy in both their faces, he chewed on his lip for a moment, a sign the others knew signaled distress.

"We were about to get married and she was thinking about Hotch. She was checking on him." Reid glanced across the room and saw Hotch leaving the trio of bridesmaids, a humorous glint in his eye as he tore at his sandwich. "Guys, I know Ana loves me and everything, but…look at him. And then look at the women in the room."

Morgan and Rossi joined Reid in observing Hotch's progress toward them. Away from his job, he was relaxed. The scowl that he usually wore as both shield and weapon was absent. He looked younger and more open, more approachable without it. Sure enough, when they glanced at the guests, nearly every pair of female eyes, and some of those belonging to males as well, tracked Hotch intermittently.

Rossi ran a hand over his beard. "You think Ana _likes_ him?"

"No! No. Not like that. I mean, she likes him, sure. But only in a friendly way." Reid studied his polished, black shoes, ashamed of admitting what he saw as a weakness in his own character. "It just bothers me that they've got something between them I can't share. Ever. And he's too damn good-looking. He's the kind of guy who gets girls. I'm not."

Morgan's guffaw snapped Reid out of what might have been turning into self-pity. "Well, he didn't get the girl _this_ time, Pretty Boy, did he? Besides, Hotch isn't a player. I guarantee you, he doesn't know the ladies are watching him. And if he did, he wouldn't do anything about it. He's actually kinda shy. Kinda like you." Morgan's smile grew. "You two aren't all that different. It's just you got the brains…and he got the looks….In a more obvious sorta way," he hastened to temporize, knowing Reid's peculiar appeal could be strong, yet different from, Hotch's.

Rossi placed a comforting hand on Reid's shoulder. "Look, I'll have a talk with him…"

"NO! Rossi! I don't want him to know about this!"

"Reid, he's a profiler. One of the best. He'll figure it out sooner or later, because you won't be able to hide how you feel. It's only gonna get worse unless you do something about it. So…you talk to your _wife_ about what bothers you, and I'll talk to Hotch."

Reid looked utterly miserable. The trepidation in his voice was unmistakable. "Rossi…guys…"

"Kid, the only thing that'll upset Hotch is if he finds out he's been doing something that hurts you, and you didn't clue him in."

xxxxxxx

From across the room, as he approached the male half of his team, Hotch could tell something was wrong. He found it disturbing. This was a happy occasion, and everything had gone off without a hitch. Except for that brief mental contact with Reid, that is. But he didn't think any harm had been done. He felt fine.

_I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay._

As he neared the men who were watching him, he felt the comforting, warm, wordless touch that told him Ana was checking on him.

He saw the worried look on Reid's face and frowned. Whatever was wrong, he'd do his best to remedy it. He wanted this to be as perfect a day as possible for the newlyweds.

As best man, he'd do whatever it took to make sure of it.


	5. The Alpha-Beta Dance

Before Hotch could ask what was wrong, Rossi slipped a controlling arm around him and steered him away from the others.

Morgan looked concerned. Reid looked positively ill, and maybe a little ashamed.

"What's wrong? What's going on? Tell me, Dave."

"Shhhhhhh. Just come with me, Aaron. Everything's fine. We need to talk, but trust me; it's all good."

Hotch looked over his shoulder as Rossi hustled him out a pair of French doors and onto the Ashcroft's patio. "Look, if something's wrong, it's my job to set it right. I'm Reid's best man!"

"Calm down and come quietly. Don't make me use my cuffs." The humor in Rossi's voice defused Hotch's determination to return to Reid and wrest an explanation from him. He allowed himself to be pushed into a chair.

Rossi stood over the younger man, scratching his beard, remembering how when he'd been Reid's age jealousy had been a constant companion, going hand in hand with the hunt for female companionship. It would pass. When Reid was rested and more secure in his new role as husband, he'd remember that Hotch was first and foremost his friend and supporter. Right now, all he saw was an attractive man who had a special connection with the woman in his life. A competitor where none existed. It _would_ pass, but in the meantime they needed to be a little more sensitive to Reid's newly-awakened male ego. Rossi smiled and gave his head a rueful shake.

"What is it, Dave? You're worrying me."

Rossi focused on his friend and boss, and decided on how he'd approach the subject at hand.

"How're you feeling, Aaron?" Hotch blinked at him. "You were a little shaky right at the start of the ceremony. Are you feeling okay now?"

"Uh, yeah. I…Reid just got nervous, I guess. He, uh…his mind _touched_ me…you know?"

Rossi lost some of his amusement at the situation. It was uncharacteristic for normally decisive Hotch to sound so uncertain. "Tell me what it was like. It looked as though you might have lost your balance a little. Is that why Reid put his arm around you?"

Hotch shifted in his chair, looking uncomfortable. "It was nothing. Really."

"Aaron, do I need to remind you about the nightmares? The inability to function? The months of sleep deprivation? The hours that old doctor held you at the edge of insanity and death, waiting for Reid to find a way to fix what happened when he touched you like that last time?" Rossi tilted Hotch's chin up, enabling eye contact. "If you don't tell me every detail, every bit of what you call 'nothing,' I'll turn you over to Prentiss and give her carte blanche to make you talk. You _know _she'd love the challenge."

Hotch controlled the urge to smile at the toothless threat, but the recitation of all he'd suffered did have an impact.

"There's not much to tell. Reid panicked. I felt it when his mind entered. It was kind of a shock. I hadn't been through anything like that for a long time. I must've shown it, 'cause I remember when it passed, Reid's arm was around me, steadying me. I told him I was okay and he let go. End of story."

Rossi searched the dark eyes, but didn't see any evasion or artifice in them. _Maybe he doesn't remember about Ana's involvement._ The mere suggestion of memory impairment was too reminiscent of Hotch's previous near-death ordeal. "Aaron, do you recall Ana being there while all that happened?"

Sudden recognition made the eyes widen. "Yes! I could hear her! I could hear _both_ of them!" Confusion passed over Hotch's features. "Why didn't I remember that?"

"I don't know, but I think you better go back over it and tell me again. So once more…what happened?"

Reid's best man inhaled deeply and nodded. Ever since the episode in upstate New York, anything that made him doubt his mind's ability to function was scary.

"I felt Reid's presence. He started apologizing. That mental 'voice;' I'm not used to it anymore. I guess I was frightened for a second. I felt Reid leaving, but before he was gone I could hear Ana. She was upset that he'd touched me; angry to find him there." Hotch looked up at Rossi. "I _never_ hear her. I used to hear them both, before Reid cut all ties with me. Now, whenever she's present, I can feel her, but that's all. Hearing her again was…strange. After Reid was gone, she stayed a little. I think she was checking to make sure I was okay." Hotch shrugged. "And I was. That's all. Dave, the whole thing took less than a heartbeat. It was over almost as soon as it began."

Rossi crossed his arms, giving his friend a stern look. "So Reid got yelled at by his fiancée right before he was to marry her. And he also knew she was hanging around in another man's mind while she was walking down the aisle to become his wife. You see how Reid might have a problem with some of that, Aaron?"

Rossi watched as something akin to exasperation, plus defeat, leavened with a dash of guilt washed across Hotch's face, making his shoulders sag.

"Yeah." He sounded like a recalcitrant child; aware of being involved in something wrong, but reluctant to acknowledge his part. He looked up at Rossi. "How could Reid think I'd do anything to hurt him? Especially today? I would never…" His voice faded, accepting that, intentions aside, he _had_ been a source of concern for the very person he was supposed to stand by.

Rossi knew there was nothing to worry about. Hotch was trustworthy and honorable. It was Reid's perception that was the problem. And the timing. The very _bad_ timing.

"He knows you'd never mean to hurt him. Aaron, do you remember your own wedding? What it was like? How you felt?"

"Like yesterday." When Hotch saw Rossi was waiting for him to expand on the experience, a sad, little quirk touched his lips. "It's more accurate to say I remember what it _felt_ like more than I can recall exact details of the ceremony. It was overwhelming. You stand up there in front of all these people and you've known all along how serious getting married is, but it's not until that exact moment that you feel it. I remember thinking 'This is forever. This is _really_ forever.' You get scared, but it's what you want, which is a little conflicting." Hotch looked up, almost chuckling. "Afterwards? All that talk about the wedding night and how passionate it's supposed to be? _That's_ a big myth!" Rossi's brows rose, inviting him to expand on the statement.

"Haley and I were exhausted. We both had pounding headaches and felt kind of sick from all the rich food at the reception. We got to our hotel room, she took some aspirin and we fell asleep." This time Hotch's smile was wide and wistful. "Still, it was nice to wake up in each other's arms. _That's _when we finally felt like husband and wife." His smile faded. "Weddings are hard, especially on the bride and groom."

"So you'd understand if Reid's not thinking too clearly and doesn't feel so great? And maybe isn't too thrilled with some good-looking alpha male having ties to his new wife?"

"Oh."

"Oh, indeed, Aaron."

Rossi let the revelation sink in before continuing, probing a little deeper into Hotch's odd, mental bonding.

"How often does Ana visit your mind?"

Hotch studied his hands, kneading his knuckles. "Mostly at night. She helps me fall asleep."

"How does she do that?"

"I'm not sure. I usually can't stop my brain from working, running over the day, looking at what might come up tomorrow. I know when she's there, because it slows down. I get this feeling of peace and I relax. Next thing I know, it's morning and I feel rested. No bad dreams."

Rossi leaned back against the side of the house, watching his friend. "You said 'mostly.' Are there others times? Maybe not on such a regular schedule?"

"I'm not sure. Should probably ask Ana. But sometimes I get that same feeling when I'm worried about stuff, or just not feeling too hot." Hotch's sigh was redolent with regret. "I didn't know it was bothering Reid, Dave. If I had, I would've put a stop to it."

Rossi's understanding smile went a long way to perking up Hotch's spirits.

"Well, it's not too late. If you don't need Ana's…therapy?...anymore, I think you should end it. Reid's feeling the same way you did on your wedding night. A little bit used up. I think you and the newlyweds should have a talk. There's no real damage done. Agreed?"

"Yeah. Sure."

Rossi's gentle, firm hand on Hotch's arm brought him to his feet.

"C'mon. I think that might be just about the best wedding present you could give Reid." A mischievous grin invaded the older man's features. "And maybe, if you still need it, we can find you something else to snuggle up to that'll help you get to sleep."

A suspicious glare was Hotch's only response.


	6. Off Limits

Ana felt a shift in the emotions around her.

She hadn't really been paying attention, but there were some people for whom her empath's antennae were always sensitized. First was Spencer. Second was Hotch. Then, on a lower strata were the other members of her husband's team and, when she was in close enough proximity, her own family.

"Excuse me."

She extricated herself from those surrounding her, offering congratulations on her marriage. Looking for Spencer, she saw him engaged in conversation with Morgan. Her bridesmaids were at a distance, talking among themselves. Nothing looked out of place, but she could feel a low level of distress expanding ever outward. She closed her eyes and sought the source. _Two points of origin. Spencer. Hotch._

The best man was nowhere to be seen. Lifting the hem of her gown to avoid dragging it on the floor, Ana went to her husband.

_Spencer? Is something wrong?_

The groom looked a bit shamefaced. _I didn't mean for this to happen. I was gonna talk to you later._

_Talk to me now._

Before Reid could elaborate, the patio doors opened. Rossi stepped in, ushering Hotch before him. Ana looked from husband to friend, picking up similar emanations of brotherly love and regret and, in Spencer's case, a touch of emotional exhaustion. _You're tired. For a smart guy, you sometimes do dumb things when you're tired._

_Sorry. _Reid had been about to explain. He'd been contemplating his feet. Now, raising his head he saw his beautiful bride and the golden aura he'd always associated with her since their last visit to the psychic sanctuary in New York had changed his vision. _I, uh…_ His eyes flicked toward Hotch and his ability to speak, verbally as well as mentally, faded away.

Hotch was accompanied by the faintest glimmer of gold. Barely discernible, an aura like a pale ghost of the one surrounding Ana shivered and pulsed as he moved closer, Rossi's guiding hand on his back.

_Uh oh._

_Spencer? What is it?_

_Oh…no…_

She could see he was staring at Hotch. She could feel Reid's anxiety starting to peak. Since no one was explaining anything to her, Ana went in search of answers on her own. She unfurled her psychic talent and touched Hotch, hoping to glean information her husband seemed incapable of providing at the moment.

As Reid watched, Hotch's aura flared.

_Ana!_

_What?_

_Are you touching him? Hotch?_

_Well, I have to find out what's bothering you guys and you're not exactly in the mood for effective communication, Spencer._

_Get out of him! GET OUT!_

Reid's telepathic shout made his bride pull back faster and harder than she'd ever done. She got the impression she was being told to vacate a very dangerous, very volatile place. She hoped Spencer was overreacting.

To Reid's relief, Hotch's aura waned. To his consternation, a few glistening grains of gold lingered, but then, eventually, very slowly…faded.

Rossi could tell something was happening. He still had an authoritative, but encouraging, hand pressed against Hotch's back. He felt a tremor and a falter in his friend's step. He also saw Reid's widened eyes and Ana's querulous, slightly impatient glance toward her new husband. Rossi sent up a private plea.

_Oh, God. Not again. No more freaky stuff, puh-leeze!_

Morgan saw it all, too, plus the slow dread that crept its way into Rossi's expression. Thing is, Morgan was fed up with psychic-this and telepathic-that. If he'd had his way, everyone who'd journeyed to that upstate hospital last time, would have returned with no special abilities or talents. Everyone would have settled back into a nice, normal, quantifiable, understandable level of awareness. He groaned and did the only thing he could think of. Getting a firm grip on Reid's shoulders, he shook him until the dazed look left his eyes.

"Snap out of it, Reid!" Morgan's look encompassed the bride, the groom, and Hotch. "I swear, if you guys start going down that crazy, paranormal path again, I'll take all three of you back to that weird, old doc and force him to do some kind of freakazoid lobotomy on you. _All_ of you. Enough is enough! Got it?"

Hotch blinked. He shot sidelong looks at the others. "Did I miss something?"

Reid swallowed. "No. But we need to talk." He disengaged himself from Morgan's grip and gave him a rueful semi-smile. "You don't have to stay, Morgan. Just us…freaks…need to talk."

Morgan still looked exasperated and suspicious, but after a glare that was intended for the whole group, he turned his attention to the three bridesmaids and headed toward Garcia, who was beckoning him closer with a look distilled from pure curiosity.

Rossi hadn't liked the touch of indecision he'd seen in the Unit Chief earlier. He hadn't been too thrilled with the slight memory glitch either. And he'd positively _hated_ the falter he'd felt in the man's step. Rossi moved his hand up to Hotch's shoulder where he intended it to remain.

"I'm staying."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Garcia looped her arm through Morgan's, watching him shoot glances of blended disgust, anger and worry at the people he'd just left. She was about to ask him to shed some light on what definitely looked like conflict across the room, but Prentiss beat her to the punch.

"_That_ was a short honeymoon. Trouble in paradise already?"

Morgan frowned. "Not like that. I'm just so sick of this 'disturbance in the force' kind of crap." Morgan appreciated sci-fi flicks as much as anyone, but he preferred the elements of fantasy and fiction to remain on the screen…not to follow him out of the theatre, pull up a chair, buy him a muffin basket, and become part of his daily life.

"Should we be worried?" J.J.'s voice was pitched low, for privacy as well as to soothe Morgan.

"I don't know." He sighed. "But I never wanna go back to that psychic hospital place again. Once was enough."

Prentiss cocked her head to one side, considering all she'd heard about the others' travels into the wilderness. "I wouldn't mind going. _If _there's a next time."

J.J. nodded. "Kind of curious to see the place myself."

Garcia's eyes glistened with imaginative speculation. "Me, too. That place sounds so cool!" She felt Morgan radiating disbelief at his colleague's willingness to delve into the world of the supernatural.

It was an eloquent gesture when he unhooked Garcia's hand from the crook of his elbow. Crossing his arms, he turned his back on the whole situation and scanned the refreshment table.

The twenty-four foot sandwich was calling. Morgan went to it, deciding it had much more to offer in the way of pleasant company than a trio of bridesmaids fascinated with ESP.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

"First, tell me if we need to get Hotch some help." Rossi had convinced Reid, Ana and Aaron to retreat back to the patio and take seats around the wrought iron table at its center. With the French doors closed, there was no chance of being overheard, and very little of being interrupted.

"Dave, I'm fine. I don't need any help."

"You don't get to make the call on that, Aaron. _They _do." Rossi pointed his chin at the newlyweds.

"I thought we were going to discuss something else." Hotch raised his brows, reminding Rossi of their originally scheduled subject matter.

"I have a feeling it's all interconnected. So I'm asking again: Reid, Ana, is Hotch okay?"

The two ESP-ers looked at each other, communicating, verifying each other's opinions.

"We think he's good to go, Rossi." Reid answered for both of them.

"But?" Decades of profiling skills told him there was an as yet unspoken trailer to the statement.

"Bu-u-ut…a minute ago I saw something new. It's gone now."

"Spill it, Reid."

Before answering, the younger agent took a good, long look at his boss, tilting his head so he could observe him from different angles.

"Hotch had a very faint, momentary…aura." Rossi turned in his seat, giving the Unit Chief a critical scan. Hotch looked down at himself. When nothing unusual jumped out at him, he brought his hands up, inspecting them for any tell-tale clouds of color or texture, which is how Reid had described auras to him once.

"It's gone now," Reid repeated. "You guys wouldn't be able to see it anyway. I think it had something to do with Ana's touching him, you know,…mentally."

Rossi rubbed a hand over his face. He didn't want to get too far off track. If Reid was sure Hotch wasn't damaged or in any kind of psychic danger, it might be best to go ahead and pursue the avenue of reconciliation that he and Hotch had been discussing. Apparently, Reid's best man had the same idea. Hotch dropped his hands back in his lap, took a deep breath and jumped in.

"Reid, I'm sorry if Ana's helping me these last few months has caused you guys any trouble."

Spencer was almost going to deny any dissatisfaction with the arrangement, but Ana delivered a sharp reprimand.

_Okay, HUSBAND! If there's a problem, we're laying it out for everyone to see. We are absolutely NOT going to start our marriage by covering up and telling half-truths to the people closest to us. Got it? This is your best man…you best friend. Understand?_

_Yes, dear._ Ana couldn't help chuckling at Reid's sheepish, submissively subservient reply.

However, the bride's laughter wasn't the reaction Hotch had expected. He raised his chin and gave the couple a half-glare, reminding them that, in his opinion, he was broaching a serious subject.

Ana looked down, shaking her head. "Sorry, Hotch, Dave. It's just that we forget sometimes it's hard for others around us when we communicate, you know, _non_verbally."

"Well now maybe you know how Reid feels when _you_ two…" Rossi fixed the best man and the bride, each in turn, with a reprimanding look "…do the same thing and exclude him."

Ana turned toward her husband. "Spencer, is _that_ what you wanted to tell me? That it bothers you when I help Hotch?" Reid suddenly found his new wedding ring inordinately fascinating. He couldn't seem to look up from studying it. Ana's voice softened. "Oh, Spencer. If you want me to stop, I will. It's nice for Hotch, but I don't think he really needs me anymore. Do you?" She shot the question at her husband's friend, which took him a little off guard.

"Uh, I…I don't think so." Hotch was trying to imagine never feeling that warm mind-touch again. "I'm used to it, and it does make sleeping easier, but I don't think it's vital. I don't think it's ever been absolutely necessary to my welfare."

"Well, then. It's settled." Rossi stepped in. "From now on _no _one touches Hotch's mind. Okay? I know _I'll_ feel better if no one does." All three heads before him nodded.

"Like I said, Reid: if it caused any problems, I'm sorry." Hotch looked up to see how his youngest team member would respond. Instead, he met the piercing eyes of Diana Reid, the groom's mother…Ana's mother-in-law…dissecting him through the glass panes of the closed patio doors.

"Maybe when we get home, you should put that bracelet back on just for…" Reid noticed Hotch was looking past him, focused on something behind and a little above his shoulder. He turned, and saw his mother locked in a staring contest with his best man. "Uh oh."

Hotch broke eye contact, conceding the battle to Mrs. Reid. "She does _not _like me." He looked down, but kept darting furtive glances in the woman's direction, checking to see if she was still watching. She was. He sighed. "It's gonna be a long trip back to Vegas. I'll be lucky to come out of it without the entire Reid clan hating me."

That caught Reid's attention. "I don't hate you, Hotch. Never have. Never will."

"Well, Mrs. Reid does." Hotch shifted in his chair. He could feel the suspicious eyes drilling into him.

"No she doesn't." Ana reached a hand across the table and patted Hotch's arm. "Don't forget: _I'm _ a 'Mrs. Reid' now, too." She turned and beamed a huge smile toward Diana. "If she's going to hate anyone, it'll be the woman who stole her son away." After a pause during which everyone except Hotch traded glances with the watcher at the window… "And I don't get hate from her at all. Just curiosity. A little suspicion, too. Mostly she's curious about the people who fill Spencer's life."

Ana looked back at Hotch. "I think she wants to get to know you. She doesn't hate you. You're just hard for her to read."

Rossi crossed his arms and nodded acknowledgement at Reid's mother. Despite assurances that Aaron was fine, he was even more concerned now that the matter of the faint aura around him had been revealed. Even if Reid said it was gone, it bothered Rossi that it had been there at all. According to Reid, he only saw such things hovering about people and places with strong psychic energy. Also, depriving Hotch of Ana's aid in getting to sleep wasn't sitting well. If Hotch resumed having nightmares, he'd do what he always did: conceal the fact until it had advanced to a point where it burst forth and disrupted his life and, consequently, his team.

When Reid's mother nodded back at him, Rossi came to a decision.

"I think I'll tag along with you, Aaron. I haven't been to Vegas for quite some time. Might be fun." In answer to the questioning look Hotch gave him, Rossi added, "And I promised to find you something to snuggle that'd help you sleep. There's all kinds of cuddly in Sin City."


	7. Vegas Vendetta

Drifts of glittered confetti marked the path the newlyweds had taken to escape their guests.

Garcia had provided small packets of the substance to throw as the married couple departed. Ana had known her husband was at the end of his emotional rope when, glassy-eyed, he'd begun lecturing all and sundry about how the more traditional throwing of rice was once thought to encourage fertility. Then he veered off on a tangent about the urban myth that rice was harmful for birds, saying the creatures that were truly in danger were the human guests. Rice grains were notorious for inflicting pain on unprotected eyeballs and the tiny, hard grains were even more insidious when it came to transforming normally safe surfaces like pavement into treacherous traps for those wearing slippery-soled footwear.

As Reid elaborated about the difficulties most wedding venues endured in cleaning up after rice-throwers, Ana kissed her parents goodbye, sent affectionate glances toward the members of the wedding party, and bundled her spouse into their getaway SUV.

Once inside, they had been instructed to follow the map Hotch had programmed into the GPS. When it took them to a utilitarian-looking motel adjacent to the nearest airport, they exchanged puzzled glances.

_Ana, do you have any idea what this is about?...why we're here?_

_No, of course not! Not a very glamorous place, but…_she sighed…_all I really want is to be somewhere quiet and private with lots and lots of you._

_Hotch sent us here. You didn't get a clue while you were…you know…__**with**__ him?_

_Spencer!_ The outrage in her telepathic touch made Reid wince. _Hotch and I don't share thoughts! We never speak! Unless you're with me and enabling it, the only one I can speak to is you. Jealous, jealous husband!_ A darker, softer sensation wrapped itself around her words. _After I tell you how silly you are to be jealous, can I tell you how flattering it is? I never thought anyone would ever feel that way about me._

Reid let his male ego bristle and preen for a moment, knowing it would make his bride laugh. _**I**__ feel that way. I feel lots of other things about you, too. Let's go check in. For the first time, we'll tell someone we're Mr. and Mrs. Reid._

The newlyweds signed the registry and were given a key to the room that had been reserved for them. They brought their overnight bags in and immediately noticed two larger pieces of luggage by the bed, and a rather heavy envelope propped with care against the lamp on the nightstand.

With the suspicious nature that attended his profession, Reid sent Ana into the questionable security of the bathroom while he pried the envelope open with forensic care. Nothing exploded. No dangerous narcotic substance made its presence known. Instead, a small stream of glittery bits matching what had been thrown at the couple as they left their reception spilled out. When Ana felt Reid's mental gasp, she came to his side.

_What is it? Spencer?_

He was too tired, too surprised, and too happy to respond in any coherent fashion. Instead he displayed the envelope's contents to his bride.

Two round trip tickets to Hawaii, complete with hotel reservations for a full week.

Neither bride nor groom had ever been to the island state. Both had always hoped to see it one day. But the accompanying note that revealed the generous donors was a gift in itself.

"Spencer and Anastasia-We packed you swimsuits, shorts and sunscreen. The rest is up to you. May you have sons and daughters of you own, so that, one day, you will understand how much you are loved."

Three names followed the message.

When Reid realized his mother had somehow joined forces with Ana's parents to arrange their honeymoon, he couldn't help it. He cried. It was such a normal thing for a mother to do and he had stopped hoping for normal things where Diana Reid was concerned a long time ago.

When Ana joined him, sharing the tears of her husband-of-less-than-a-day, Reid understood it was part of her pledge…_Where you go, I go, too._

xxxxxxxxxx

Diana Reid lifted her chin and considered the men before her.

The older one was trying to act as liaison between her and the younger one; the one with predatory eyes verging on villainous. She had subjected both of them to intense, unwavering scrutiny during the previous day's activities; the wedding and the reception. She had decided they were not to be trusted, but their devotion to her son tipped the scales and allowed her to agree to their escorting her back home to Las Vegas.

At issue were the seating arrangements while they traveled. Mrs. Reid wanted to keep the young one in sight at all times. The older one had a courtly streak of gentlemanliness which pushed him to keep the lady company and possibly engage her in conversation.

"Then it's settled," Rossi said, giving Hotch a conciliatory pat. "You drive and we'll sit in back. If you get tired, we'll switch: I'll drive with Mrs. Reid beside me and you'll get the backseat to yourself. When in the back, you'll sit on the driver's side, so Mrs. Reid can keep an eye on you."

Rossi could see the unspoken words in Aaron's eyes. _She hates me. All the Reids hate me._

Smiling and gracious, he opened the back, passenger side door. "Mrs. Reid, may I help you in?"

"I don't need help. And I'm sitting on the other side. Behind _him_." The jabbing motion of her index finger made Hotch flinch.

Rossi couldn't quite conceal his amusement as he watched Reid's mother settle in directly behind the driver's seat. He could almost see the hairs on the back of Aaron's neck rise under the anticipated heat of her gaze, drilling into him for the next few hours.

As Hotch passed him, resigned to his fate, Rossi gave his arm a companionable squeeze and whispered what he hoped were comforting words.

"Just look forward to tonight, Aaron. We'll be in Vegas. We can play a little before we have to go back home."

The Unit Chief gave him a sad look that said all the gambling and entertainment in the world wouldn't make up for having to endure Mrs. Reid's scathing glare, sizzling into him while she barely tolerated his presence.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Four hours later, the agents were checking into the MGM Grand, having successfully returned Reid's mother to her sanatorium room.

During the journey, she and Rossi had spent a good deal of time whispering in the back seat. Hotch heard his name mentioned, but couldn't pick up much more than that. He assumed he was being vilified. However, when they'd stopped and Rossi had helped Mrs. Reid out along with her luggage, she'd come up to the driver's window and subjected Hotch to her sharp gaze again. He'd startled when she'd reached a hand in and stroked his hair.

"Keep fighting. Don't let them take any more of you." She'd spoken with harsh ferocity. Hotch had no idea what she meant, so he resorted to the safest response he could come up with on the spur of an awkward moment.

"Yes, ma'am."

She'd patted his cheek, smiled and left. Rossi had moved up to sit in the front. Hotch had refused to start the car, opting instead to study the older agent's profile. Rossi's grin grew, but he finally broke under Aaron's grim regard.

"What?"

"What did you tell her, Dave? What did she mean about not letting 'them' take any more of me?"

"Nothing, Aaron. We were just passing the time in idle conversation."

"Dave…we're not going anywhere until you tell me."

Rossi sighed. Turning to look directly at his traveling companion, he let the grin win. "I told her you'd been fighting inner demons on her son's behalf. You won the battle, but the demons won your eyes. That's why you look the way you do. She was very grateful, because she said she wouldn't have been able to bear it if Spencer's eyes became…how did she put it?…oh, yeah… 'like a carnal beast's.'"

Looking smug, Rossi had settled back in his seat. "Now, let's go find a place for the night." As Hotch keyed the ignition and pulled out of the sanatorium parking lot, Rossi glanced at him. "We're in Sin City, Aaron. Your eyes should feel right at home."

xxxxxxxxx

Now Hotch stood behind Rossi at the registry desk of the MGM. When he realized Dave was booking a room for them both, he spoke up.

"Are they full? Any reason we can't have separate rooms?"

All kidding aside, Rossi's voice was serious when he answered. "I want to make sure you're alright, Aaron. You won't have Ana to help you to sleep tonight. I want to be there if you need anything…even if it's just someone to talk to."

The genuine concern in his friend's demeanor forestalled any protest Hotch might have made. He nodded and didn't question it when Rossi handed him a key and told him to go on up, that he needed to get some things from one of the shops in the lobby before joining him. Hotch assumed it would be along the lines of toothpaste or shaving cream.

Rossi entered their room while Hotch was freshening up. There was ample opportunity for the older agent to stash his purchase away, unseen. After a little freshening of his own, he suggested they find something to eat, wander through the casinos for a little while and then get some rest. Hotch agreed.

After a pleasant, companionable evening, they decided to turn in. Hotch didn't think anything of it when Rossi said he wanted to read for a while, but he wouldn't if the light was a disturbance.

"Won't bother me. I'm tired. I don't think I'll have any trouble falling asleep, if that's why you're staying up, Dave."

"Just go to sleep, Aaron. Say 'good night.'"

"G'night."

An hour later, while Hotch was deep in the grips of honest slumber, Rossi very quietly opened his go-bag and pulled out his purchase from the gift shop; a large, lavender, plush unicorn, sporting a rainbow horn and over-sized, stuffed, red lips. With stealth worthy of a cat-burglar, he slipped it under his roommate's arm, posing it nose to nose with the sleeping man. When Hotch gave a soft moan and pulled the unicorn even closer, hugging it to his chest, Rossi smiled. Silently, he retrieved his phone from the bedside. Within seconds, the BAU Unit Chief was immortalized, the picture of him cuddling his fanciful bedmate sent to every member of his team with the text: 'Vegas is fun. Found someone special to snuggle.'

Knowing Hotch would find a copy of the picture waiting on his own phone in the morning, Rossi leaned over and whispered, "_That's_ for moving last summer's company picnic to my house without telling me." After a few minutes, his look softened. He brushed his friend's hair back with a tender touch. He really was glad and relieved that Hotch seemed to be sleeping so soundly.

"Sweet dreams, Aaron."

Rossi turned out the lights and nestled into his own bed. He was looking forward to an amusing morning.


	8. Hawaiian Honeymoon

_This is __**incredible**__!_

Reid and Ana stood on the balcony of their honeymoon suite on the island of Maui. Fragrant flower leis still draped around their necks, elaborately decorated tropical drinks sweating chilly condensation on a nearby table, they watched a pod of whales in the distance as they migrated across an ocean tinged orange and pink by the setting sun.

_If this is all we ever see of Hawaii, it's enough. It's so…so…perfect._

Reid stood behind his new wife. He hunched down to rest his chin on her shoulder, bringing his arms around to clasp her to him. _Every minute I think 'Wow. I've never been happier.' Then a minute later, I think 'No__**, this **__is the happiest moment in my life so far.' It's overwhelming to be this…this…_

_Happy?_

_Yeah._

Ana nuzzled into the side of his neck, inhaling the aroma of flowers as well as the scent of her man. _So…Spencer…what should we do next?_

_Funny thing. I asked Rossi that at our wedding. He made it sound so simple._

_What'd he say?_

_That we should enjoy our honeymoon, then discuss plans for a family, and then…live happily ever after._

_Mmmmmm. That sounds good._ She turned in his arms to face him. The leis tangled, fragile blossoms crushing, releasing more of their sweetness into the dense, tropical air. _But it sounds like a lot. Maybe we could combine a couple of them?_

Reid wasn't positive, but he _thought_ he knew where she was going. His smile stretched to almost painful width. _Like…?_

_Like starting our family on our honeymoon?_ He could hear the tentative questioning overlaid with a veneer of eagerness in her thoughts. They'd known each other for two years. There was no doubt that family was on both their wish lists. She felt where his emotional response and her smile mirrored his, then somehow managed to surpass it.

And suddenly there was yet another contender for the happiest moment in Spencer Reid's life.

xxxxxxxxx

"_Ah_! What the…? _ROSSI_!"

Hotch's exclamation was loud enough to reach Rossi as he showered. Not wanting to miss anything of amusement value, he stepped out from under the hot spray and peered around the corner of the bathroom door.

"Good morning, Aaron. Sleep well?"

Pollyanna enumerating reasons to find gladness wouldn't have sounded more innocent.

Hotch was scrunched back against the headboard, eyeing the thing that had startled him upon waking. The thing returned his regard with shiny, heavily-lashed, button eyes nestled in plush pastel purple. He turned his glare from the doting face of the unicorn doll to his roommate.

"What the hell is that and why was it in bed with me?"

Rossi retreated back into the steamy confines of the bathroom. "I _told_ you I'd find you something to snuggle and help you sleep."

"Ha, ha, Dave. Very funny."

"Every boy needs a cuddly toy. I read that somewhere."

Rossi toweled off and dressed. He could hear Hotch rummaging through his bag, looking for fresh clothes. He also heard the Unit Chief's phone go off, signaling a waiting message. He knew it had been viewed when the growling baritone bellowed through the walls

"_ROSSI_! What did you do!?"

Dry, dressed and dapper, the older man emerged from the bathroom and smiled at his friend. Face aghast, phone in hand, Hotch looked with horror at the picture of himself cozying up to the lavender unicorn. From Rossi's angle, the creature seemed to be leering into the camera, fully cognizant of how its very presence challenged the masculinity of its bedmate.

Walking over to Hotch, he placed a consoling hand on his shoulder. After seeing the list of those who'd received the photo, Hotch looked up, understanding slowly dawning in his still sleepy brain.

"Picnic?"

Rossi gave the beloved shoulder an affectionate pat and verified Hotch's suspicion.

"Picnic."

xxxxxxxxxxx

The newlyweds reveled in playing tourist.

Although widely traveled, Reid rarely had the opportunity to know any of the places he'd visited beyond police headquarters and crime scenes. Ana only knew Needles, New York, Quantico, and a tiny bit of L.A. from when she'd visited her friend Cindy once. She'd never been anywhere tropical. The climate took the couple by surprise.

Both were thoroughly, painfully sunburned despite lavishing each other with creams and lotions intended to prevent just such an occurrence.

But even reddened skin and imminent peeling couldn't mar their happiness. Hawaii after sundown, without the pounding solar rays, was a heady experience in and of itself. They sampled local cuisine, went on nighttime tours of volcanoes where landscapes were lit by glowing lava, danced, shopped for souvenirs, explored beaches, and made love.

It was a delightful pattern that defined the next several days and nights.

xxxxxxxx

As the last day of their vacation dawned, Ana bolted upright with a gasp, pulling her husband up from the depths of sleep, too.

_Ana? Are you okay?_

She was silent, her mind so focused on something that Reid couldn't access her thoughts. She'd never been that _un_available to him. Not when she was so physically close. It frightened him.

_Ana? Ana!_

When she came back from wherever she'd been, the look of complete shock and wonder she gave him increased his concern. But he was reassured when she threw her arms around his neck and made joyful, little squeaking noises as she buried her face in his chest.

When she emerged, and had taken a few steadying breaths, she clasped his hands, one in each of hers, and locked eyes with him.

_We did it, Spencer. I know. I just __**know**__._

_What?! What did we do?!_

A look of peaceful calm, of something Reid could only liken to acceptance or farsightedness, infused Ana's thoughts and features.

_I'm pregnant. We did it. Our family begins now._

_You're sure?_

_Absolutely. I don't know how I know, but I __**do **__know._

_Wha…wha…but it's so soon!...Wha…what else do you know? Boy or girl?_

_Yeah. I'm pretty sure it's one or the other._

The newlyweds spent the remaining hours of their honeymoon planning for the next big step in their lives.

xxxxxxxxx

Once Hotch had resigned himself to having to live down the consequences of what he would henceforth consider 'The Incident of the Unicorn Betrayal,' he and Rossi had breakfast and then arranged for a flight back to Virginia.

In a fit of barely concealed rage, the Unit Chief had vented his feelings for the stuffed toy by throwing it into the trash. Unknown to him, Rossi had rescued it. He had then carefully concealed it in the bottom of Hotch's carry-on bag where its rainbow-hued, metallic horn would undoubtedly be noticed and questioned when their luggage was scanned.

Arrangements accomplished, they stood in line at the airport, tickets and bags in hand. Rossi endeavored to look and sound innocent, unsuspecting.

"So you think the Reids are having a good time in Hawaii?"

Hotch's smile was small, but genuine. "I don't see how they could avoid it. It's good to see Reid happy after all he's been through."

Both agents lifted their bags onto the conveyor belt headed for the scanners. One at a time they stepped through the detectors, moving with the slow, even pace of experienced air travelers.

Rossi picked up his bag, now officially approved, and waited for Hotch to catch up to him.

"Sir, step aside, please." The burly, uniformed security guard fixed the Unit Chief with a steely glare. Hotch reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his badge.

"I told the guard on the other side, I'm with the Justice Department. I'm cleared to carry a weapon."

"We're not questioning that, sir. It's your carry-on. We need to see inside."

Hotch shot Rossi a puzzled look. Rossi shrugged and moved closer to the table off to one side where manual inspections of suspect items took place. The table to which Hotch was led. The table upon which his bag was placed and slowly opened.

As the guard removed pieces of clothing and Hotch's shaving kit, the unicorn began to unfold. Rossi had bent it almost in two and weighed it down with the items placed on top of it. As those items were removed and the weight lessened, the unicorn's head rose. Horn first, it pushed its way up, cresting above the rim of the bag in all its rainbow-lavender glory. Hotch stared at it, eyes filled with a mixture of loathing and disbelief. A fresh equation of betrayal ran through his mind. He turned his most evil glare on Rossi.

"Really, Dave? _Still_ for the picnic?"

"_That's_ for months of making me look over my shoulder, thinking you were planning to get me back for the sponge bath at Millie's."

And_ that_ became the second picture Rossi sent to the team: Hotch standing beside his go-bag, unicorn gazing up at him lovingly with its plush lips pursed, security guard keeping a wary watch over a man and his toy.


	9. Baby Blip

Spencer 'Post-Honeymoon' Reid infused the atmosphere of the BAU bullpen with a dizzy, giddy kind of energy.

He and Ana had decided to follow standard protocol and avoid mentioning their imminent parenthood until the pregnancy was a little farther along. But it was hard to keep such news under wraps. Even if he kept silent, Reid couldn't conceal the joyful anticipation that enveloped him like a cloud and seemed to infect everyone who came within a ten yard radius of him.

The team attributed his mood to the blissful afterglow of his wedding and honeymoon. But Hotch gave him curious looks whenever they passed each other. Finally, the Unit Chief asked for a meeting in his office.

"You do something you shouldn't have, Pretty Boy?" Morgan raised an eyebrow as Hotch beckoned to Reid from the catwalk outside his door.

"Nothing I can think of. Probably wants to know why I'm grinning like an idiot all the time, even when we're going over crime scene photos."

Prentiss craned her neck around, the better to see Reid's new desk ornament: a framed picture of Ana on a Hawaiian beach, drawing the words 'I LOVE YOU' in the sand. "Ohhhhh, I think we all have a pretty good idea why you're grinning like an idiot, Reid." That being said, she couldn't help adopting a smile almost as wide as that of her co-worker. Reid's happiness was infectious.

Resigned to whatever awaited, but with perpetual grin firmly in place, Reid bounded up the stairs to see Hotch.

xxxxxxx

From where he sat behind his own desk, Rossi saw the young agent head upstairs. He guessed his destination. Hotch and Reid hadn't really talked one-on-one since the reception. Rossi had been keeping an eye on Hotch partly out of habit, partly because he still didn't trust his friend to speak up if he wasn't feeling quite right due to Reid's inadvertent telepathic invasion.

Now, Rossi debated giving the younger men some privacy versus barging in and playing mediator. He tapped his pen against his teeth, weighing the pros and cons. When he heard the muffled sounds of Hotch's and Reid's voices coming from beyond the wall his office shared with the Unit Chief's, he noted the normal cadence and rhythm. Nothing sounded worrisome. He abandoned the urge to interrupt, and returned to proofing the report he'd been working on all morning.

Maybe, if he thought there was a need, he'd invite Hotch for a drink later. With a little alcohol in him, the man would be more likely to loosen up… or trip up…if there was anything worthy of concern lurking in his psyche.

xxxxxxx

"Have a seat, Reid."

The newlywed dropped into one of the comfortable, leather chairs facing his leader's desk. He didn't get the feeling he'd done anything to warrant disciplinary action. But what he gleaned from Hotch's demeanor and the faint psychic emanations coming from him, _did_ make Reid think awkward subject matter was about to be broached. Hotch clasped his hands on top of his desk, leaning forward as he considered how to begin.

"So did you guys enjoy your honeymoon? Was Hawaii everything you'd hoped?"

Reid's grin managed to widen even more, but he knew this was just pleasant preamble to whatever Hotch _really_ wanted to discuss.

"We had a great time. It was better than anything I could've imagined. But, Hotch, I don't need to touch your mind to know there's something on it. Are _you_ okay?"

Hotch hadn't expected Reid to cut to the chase so quickly. He found he wasn't prepared to deliver a well-thought-out, logical answer without the lead-in he'd planned. Deprived of his strategy, he took a moment to organize his thoughts, eyes fixed on his desk blotter. Reid felt the first, faint stirrings of genuine concern.

"Hotch. It's me. I'll understand anything you tell me. What is it?"

The Unit Chief sat up straighter and rubbed his jaw, giving his choice of words careful consideration. His eyes meeting Reid's were direct, but cautious.

"I don't mean to pry and I'm relying on you to tell me if I'm crossing any lines, but I do have to ask you something."

Reid lifted his chin, giving his full attention to his boss. "Like I said; you can talk to me about anything, Hotch."

The older man nodded. "Okay. Here goes. Is Ana still in touch with me sometimes? In my mind?"

Reid gave his head a definitive shake. "No. She's not."

"Is it possible she's doing it without knowing? Like an involuntary reflex maybe? A habit that's hard to break?"

"Hotch, I'd know if that happened. We're in contact with each other's thoughts almost all the time. She said she wouldn't touch you again and I believe her." Reid frowned, disliking the intimation that his wife might be doing something behind his back. "What's this about? Why do you ask?"

Hotch relaxed back into his chair, shaking his head, eyes scanning some internal landscape. Reid got the impression that he'd been hoping for a different answer; one that would clear up a mystery. Like Rossi, the young agent's first worry was that sleep deprivation might be drawing the Unit Chief into its vicious cycle once more.

"Are you having trouble sleeping again? Are you thinking that when you _do_ sleep, Ana has something to do with it? Is that it?"

"No. No, nothing like that." Hotch looked up, nothing but clear honesty in his gaze. "I can't remember ever sleeping as well as I have for the last couple of weeks. It started the same time you guys got back from your honeymoon. That's why I thought Ana might have something to do with it….Not that I think she'd do it on purpose," he hastened to add. "I thought she might be completely unaware of it, though."

Reid shook his head, absolutely, undeniably certain. "I'd know if something like that happened, even if she didn't. I can feel her mental processes more clearly every day we're together. And she can feel mine."

"Okay. I needed to ask. I hope that's not crossing any lines or invading your privacy."

Reid studied his boss more closely. "But you _are_ sleeping okay, aren't you, Hotch?"

"Like a baby. Dreamless. Deep. Completely at peace. I'm sleeping like a baby."

xxxxxxxxxx

A short time later, the news of Reid's impending fatherhood went public.

He and Ana wanted to start prenatal care and neither knew of any appropriate doctors in the area. Rather than take a stab at finding one through online yellow pages, Reid thought it would be a good idea to ask for recommendations from the two team members who had firsthand parenthood experience. He waited for a time when J.J. and Hotch were both getting coffee from the bottomless pot kept brewing twenty-four hours a day at the BAU.

He cleared his throat as he came up behind the pair who were having a quiet conversation, trading tales about their respective children. It seemed an appropriate opening.

"Hey, Spence. How's it going?" J.J.'s natural ability to put everyone at ease should have made broaching the subject a simple matter. Instead, Reid found himself tongue-tied.

"I…uh…I…"

J.J. and Hotch exchanged amused glances. Hotch topped off his cup and was about to head back to his office, leaving J.J. to decipher whatever his youngest agent was trying to communicate. But when Reid realized he was on the verge of losing half of the duo whose advice he needed, he bypassed the art of subtle communication and went straight for the time-honored method of blurting.

"We're having a baby!" Then, surprised by his own lack of finesse, he stood blinking at his colleagues.

Luckily, they had no trouble picking up the thread of conversation.

"Spence! Really? That's wonderful!" J.J.'s coffee sloshed onto the counter as she put her cup down and wrapped Reid in an enthusiastic embrace.

"Congratulations, Reid!" Hotch grasped his hand. "You're gonna be a great dad."

"When's Ana due?"

Reid recovered the power of speech that had momentarily fled. "Uh, I'm not sure. We don't have a doctor yet. I was hoping you guys could give us some pointers, some recommendations?"

Hotch's grin almost outdid the father-to-be's. "Sure. I think I've still got the doctor who delivered Jack in my address book."

"And I can give you contact info for the doctor I used, too." J.J. retrieved her coffee cup and followed the men out.

Hotch let happiness for his young colleague spread through him. "So Jack and Henry will have a new playmate pretty soon." He steered Reid into his office. Preoccupied with looking for the name and phone number of the doctor, Hotch didn't pay attention to his own words when he said, "It'll be nice for the boys to have a little girl around."

Reid froze while his boss continued rifling through his list of contacts. Only that morning Ana had said she was beginning to sense femininity; that the life growing inside her would likely be a daughter. But Reid hadn't said a word to anyone about the child's gender.

And he wasn't positive, but for the briefest of moments, he thought he saw a few grains of gold sparkle around Hotch. They faded too quickly to be sure. Reid's mouth went dry. As Hotch continued to talk about local doctors, the younger man couldn't help thinking of another physician far away in a nameless settlement; a very special specialist.

_Please, not Hotch…not again…_


	10. Psychic Peas in a Pod

That evening when Reid entered the door of the apartment he and Ana shared, he dropped his satchel and keys, went straight to his wife, and pulled her into a tight hug.

_Spencer? Something's wrong. Tell me._

Instead of trying to put the whole exchange with Hotch into words, even telepathic ones, Reid bared his memories of the day, inviting Ana to view them. He harbored a slim hope that if she saw the experience directly, without the imposed filter of his own perception, she'd laugh, tell him he was being silly, and everything would be right with the world once more.

It didn't quite work out that way.

_That's impossible! How could he know? __**I**__ don't even really know! How could…_

She went silent. He could feel her searching within herself for something…maybe an unguarded moment when she'd unconsciously reached out to check on Hotch's welfare. Reid was aware when she came up empty; there was nothing in her mind since their wedding day that would lead either of them to believe she'd touched their untouchable friend.

Both of them sighed, holding onto each other out of a mutual need for reassurance as much as love.

_I'm really tempted to reach out to him right now, Spencer. Maybe I could figure out what's going on._

_Please don't. If something's happening to him because of his contact with you…or with me for just that split second when I was so damn nervous at our wedding…I think more of the same would only make it worse._

_What should we do? We can't let it go without telling him. Or maybe Dave? Or we could talk to both of them? Maybe?_

Reid drew in a long, shuddering breath. _Do you think there's any chance it'll go away on its own? Kind of heal itself, if we give it time?_

_Do you really wanna take the chance, Spencer? After last time?_

_No._

Ana pulled back. The newlyweds stared at each other.

_See how he's doing tomorrow. He's aware something's different or he wouldn't have asked you about me and the way he's sleeping now, so…_ Ana's mental voice faded into a shocked, blank whiteness.

_Oh, God._

_Ana?_

_He said he's sleeping 'like a baby.' And he sounded sure we're having a girl._ Her eyes widened, then closed in a heartfelt wish to push the suspicion from her. _What if he's in touch with…with… our baby?_

Reid's nervous swallow was audible.

_Or maybe our baby's in touch with him._

xxxxxxxx

Carol Bescardi was adept at performing mathematical calculations. When she didn't like the results, she was also adept at finding ways to alter them.

Federal regulations defined how time off for good behavior was determined. Bescardi sniffed at the limitations. For every year she served without making waves, fifty-four days would be deducted from her sentence. That meant that, at best, she could hope for slightly less than two years to be deducted from her allotted fifteen.

That wouldn't do. Not at all.

She petitioned both the Bureau of Prisons and the Designation and Sentence Computation Center. She was smart and persuasive and very, very good at writing summations and proposals. If she weren't, she would never have been able to obtain the grants and funding that had kept her Paranormal Investigation Center open for so long.

_Open until that peasant-beast, David Rossi, undermined my career…my legacy…my life!_

Rage lent her focus and honed her already considerable skills. Eventually, she was conceded the right to communicate with the members of the New York State Prison Board directly. They were the people who reviewed an inmate's record. They were the ones who could be instrumental in getting a sentence commuted to something shorter, or less restrictive.

Bescardi pointed out how she actively participated in prison life. She took advantage of every opportunity offered for education and rehabilitation. She volunteered for studies and psychological experiments. She knew exactly how to be, how to act, how to seem.

Staff and inmates alike agreed that Carol Bescardi was a sheer delight. So helpful and personable. It must have been a truly unfortunate miscarriage of justice or perhaps a misinterpretation of evidence that landed her inside the penitentiary walls.

At night in her bunk, Bescardi gritted her teeth and vowed to maintain the façade of model prisoner for just one more day. Then another. And another. When she did sleep, she dreamt the string of days, during which she forced herself to smile and smile and endure the company of the human cattle surrounding her, would lead to Rossi and Reid and that girl he'd married and, if she had time after dealing with them, maybe it would lead to the watchdog whose treatment at her hands was the reason she was here in the first place.

Of all the things she did to further her agenda, all the strategies that filled her life, she looked forward to sleeping the most. The dreams were what kept her going, spurring her on through the morass of human effluvia that she was convinced comprised the bulk of mankind.

Carol Bescardi worked and waited and dreamed of the methods and means by which she'd reclaim her status in the scientific community. On particularly good nights, she attained a position so exalted, it would render her immune to the legal strictures that had derailed her this time around.

Yes, sleep was a good and necessary time when hopes and dreams became plans and probabilities.

xxxxxxxxx

In the end Reid opted to talk to Rossi first.

The news of his impending parenthood had spread through the BAU, infusing it with a celebratory air. Morgan bought a box of cigars and left them on the prospective father's desk in anticipation of the big day when Baby Reid would join them. Prentiss, Garcia, and J.J. found opportunities to conceal small toys and other baby accessories in places where Reid would discover them over the course of his work day.

Amid the general joy, Reid kept a secret surveillance on Hotch. The Unit Chief seemed well-rested and even gave off occasional emanations of peacefulness. Reid's concerns began to wane. He wanted to convince himself that whatever strangeness had been lurking around his boss, was now resolved. He wanted to believe that it had just been a temporary reaction to Ana's cutting the cord and ending her psychic association with their friend.

But that changed.

Two-and-a-half months into her pregnancy, Ana felt her baby kick. It startled her. She'd been told that it wouldn't occur for some weeks yet. After a moment of intense, empathic self-examination, her worries vanished. Everything seemed fine. Concerns allayed, her first priority was to call Spencer, to tell him of this landmark in the creation of their family.

Miles away, Reid was at his desk, working out a geographical profile at the request of a police chief in a small, New Mexican town. Moments before his phone rang, he knew Ana was calling with something joyful. Grateful for the break, he leaned back in his chair, eyes wandering over the section of the BAU encompassed within his immediate field of vision, which included Hotch's office.

"Spencer! The baby kicked! I felt it. The first kick!"

Knowing Ana wasn't far enough along for such movement, Reid held his feelings in check until she assured him every fiber of her empathic senses told her the fetus was healthy and safe.

"I guess we have a pretty precocious kid on our hands already," he joked as he watched Hotch emerge from his office, Morgan following. The Unit Chief was immersed in reading a folder of papers as he began to descend the catwalk stairs down to the bullpen level.

"Oh! There it is again! Spencer, I just got kicked again!"

Ana's happy gasp coincided with Hotch losing his footing. As Reid watched, Morgan lunged, reaching down to the man a few steps below him. Grabbing their boss' arm, he arrested what might have been a nasty fall.

"You okay, man?" Morgan waited for Hotch to regain his footing before releasing his hold.

"Yeah. Fine. Thanks."

Nothing would have struck Reid as odd, other than the coincidental timing between Ana's kick and Hotch's stumble, if it hadn't been for the small puff of golden mist that only he could see. It hovered, swirled, and then seemed to settle back into its host…Hotch.

Ana felt her husband's unease.

"Spencer? Is something wrong?"

"Maybe. Not sure." He took a deep breath. "I think I'm gonna have that talk with Rossi after all."


	11. The Vermont Connection

Circumstances and timing weren't on Reid's side when it came to having a private chat with Rossi.

The papers Hotch had been studying as he and Morgan traversed the bullpen turned out to be a newly received case file for a hostage situation in Vermont. Hotch called wheels-up, and within the hour they were airborne, headed for the village of Bridgewater, population less than a thousand, but with enough children to merit an elementary school. And with enough bad luck to have attracted a gunman whose reaction to being fired for _in_appropriate behavior during his employment as a school bus driver had led him to what he considered an eminently _a_ppropriate act of vengeance.

Holed up in the second grade classroom of Mrs. Eleanor Greaves, Calvin Saunderson crouched beside a desk, keeping his weapon trained on a group of terrified six- and seven-year-olds, huddled around the lifeless body of their teacher. The children balked when told to move away from the only reminder of safety and security they had…the corpse of the woman who'd died trying to shield them. So Mr. Saunderson punctuated his order by plugging a few more rounds into Mrs. Greaves. As the dead flesh jumped and shuddered from the impact, the children finally scattered, screaming.

That made Calvin giggle. That made Calvin wonder what the reaction would be if he added another, smaller body to the one already providing so much entertainment.

_This'll give them some perspective on appropriate versus __**in**__appropriate!_

In Calvin's mind, this was all _their_ fault. If _they'd_ left him alone and let him keep his job, he would have been satisfied to just look…and maybe touch a little…but their children's lives wouldn't have been endangered. _Their _fault.

_**Now **__see what you've done? Hmmmm?_

When the black SUVs pulled up, Calvin peeped over the window sill. He watched the six men and women putting on their thick, Kevlar vests with 'FBI' emblazoned across the chest in blocky, white letters. For the first time, he fully realized that his outburst of anger and frustration at the injustice of his situation might not end well for him.

He wouldn't mind being caught, but the appearance of federal agents managed to penetrate the miasma of self-pity and rage under which he'd been operating. He'd heard that FBI operatives could shoot with deadly accuracy.

Calvin looked at the cadaver of Eleanor Greaves, and a frisson of mortal terror wafted through his coward's heart. She wasn't funny anymore. The dead eyes of the former grade school teacher seemed to be mocking him. Calvin stared at the whimpering, shivering huddle of children and suddenly knew how they felt. He didn't _care_…but now he knew.

Focused and fierce, especially when children were involved, Hotch scanned the venue where eleven students and their teacher had been taken captive in a classroom. The local police chief outlined the situation.

"We haven't had any communication. It's been four hours since he went in. There was gunfire when he took the hostages. Since then, we heard one more burst. From the sound, we know his weapon's semi-automatic." The chief rubbed tense neck muscles. "We have no idea if anyone's been hurt. There's no phone inside and he doesn't respond to the bullhorn.

"We thought about sending in tear gas, but one of the kids is severely asthmatic. Can't take the chance on what it might do to him."

Hotch finished adjusting his vest, settling the heavy weight across his shoulders more evenly. "How many entry points are we talking about?"

"Into the school, three: front and back, and a loading dock around the side. Into the classroom: just the one hallway door, and the windows you can see. But they're not the kind that give easy access."

The Unit Chief tried to tamp down the frantic feeling he always got when children's lives were at stake. Ever since he'd become a parent himself, he found he had to take a moment in cases like this to remind himself to think like an agent, not a father.

On the short flight up they'd gone over the bio information on Calvin Saunderson. He profiled as a disgruntled employee with a sub-average IQ accompanied by strong streaks of cowardice and cruelty. In short, a bully.

Hotch motioned to his team to follow him, stepping aside from the other law enforcement officials. When they were out of hearing range, Hotch still kept his voice low, avoiding any risk of revealing the unique talents Dr. Reid brought to the table.

"I know you usually need to touch something or someone to get a read on them, but can you pick up anything from this guy? Anything at all?"

The agents waited several anxious minutes while Reid tried to block out the emotionally charged thought patterns swirling through the immediate vicinity, and focus on the gunman yards away, behind a wall, sharing space with terrified children. He spared a wistful thought for Ana's ability to support and strengthen his telepathy, then gave himself over to fierce concentration.

Reid wasn't an empath, but he could pick up feelings through cognitive processes. It wasn't the pure distillation of raw emotion that Ana could lay claim to, but a more cogent, intellectual type of emanation. Reid could feel the others' eyes on him as he tried to separate out individual threads of thought. He aimed his perception toward the school room. Everything was colored by fear. It was pervasive. He felt as though he were trying to unravel a ball of telepathic string; all the different strands twined and wove and lashed around each other. And everywhere…fear…mortal terror.

_There's so much of it. They're so scared. It's inescapable._

And Reid's eyes shot open. _That's IT! They're __**all **__scared!_

"Hotch, he's terrified. Just like the kids. He's a bully whose bluff has been called. At heart, most bullies are cowards. He's as scared of losing his life or being hurt as any of the children are. I don't think he thought his actions all the way through, and now he's almost paralyzed with fear."

Prentiss rolled her eyes. "I don't care how he feels. I just want those kids and their teacher out."

Reid looked as though he'd been hit in the gut.

"You okay? What is it, kid?" Rossi was the first to see the color drain away, to see a sick sort of realization overlay the youngest agent's features.

"I didn't catch anything that I could say was a normal adult in there. Just the children and the twisted feel of the unsub." Reid turned to their leader. "There's no teacher for me to pick up. I'm pretty sure she's dead, Hotch."

The Unit Chief felt his heart squeeze with anguish. _Oh, God. Those kids are all alone with that sick monster._

Morgan gave them all a warning glance; the police chief was approaching. Reid's ESP was a team secret. All conversation ceased.

The officer looked worn and frazzled, desperate to end the standoff. "We've got a couple marksmen from a few towns over. Maybe if we could get the bastard to show himself, they could take him out."

Hotch thought of the children. Already traumatized, especially if their teacher had been killed, he didn't want them to have to witness another death. The sharpshooters would go for a headshot. He wouldn't wish the sight of that on anyone, let alone innocent second graders. He turned to the police chief.

"Let's keep that as a last resort. We think this guy's so scared, he might grab a way out, if we offer him one." Hotch could tell the others knew what he'd say next and were already forming objections. "I'm going in to try and talk him down."

"Hotch, you don't know how he'll react. Fight or flight; fear can push him either way." Morgan placed himself between his boss and the school, an almost instinctive move to protect.

J.J. studied Hotch, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Do you think, if he's that scared, he might respond better to a woman?"

"No. I think it needs to be me." Hotch was scanning the bank of windows. He could hear the faint sobs of the children coming through those that were open, and the heartbreaking sound was working on him.

Reid nodded. "Actually, an alpha male probably _does_ have the best chance with this kind of unsub."

Hotch began walking toward the building's front door. Morgan caught up with him before he'd gone more than five steps. "Let me do it, man. Or at least let me go with you."

Hotch stopped and considered the offer. "Stay behind me. I want him to think I'm alone, that he doesn't merit more than that. And if it's just me, I'll be more of a father figure than a threat. Don't shoot unless there's no other choice, got it? Those kids have seen enough."

xxxxxxxxx

Morgan hovered just out of sight in the hallway as Hotch opened the classroom door and stepped in.

"Calvin Saunderson, my name's Aaron." He took in the unsub's wild-eyed panic and slowly moved closer. "I'm putting my gun away, Calvin. All I want to do is talk. All I want to do is help you get out of here safely. You'd like that, wouldn't you? To go someplace safe?"

Slow step by slow step, he closed the distance between them. He could hear the children sobbing, whimpering. His eyes cut to the side and found Mrs. Greaves. The body of their teacher was a hideous vision these students would own for the rest of their lives. Hotch tried to keep Calvin's attention focused on him.

But when two little boys screamed and ran for the door through which he'd entered, seeing an avenue of escape at last, Calvin brought his gun up and fired. Panic made his shots go wild.

Hotch felt the first bullet graze his right thigh. He noted the burning sensation and the warmth of blood saturating his pant leg, but, powered by adrenalin, he launched himself forward and to the side, his only thought to place himself between the shooter and the remaining huddle of children…and to give Morgan a chance to act while his boss was targeted. The second shot took Hotch full in the chest at point blank range. As pain blossomed through his body, he felt more than saw Morgan streak past. Before Calvin could pull the trigger again, the gun was wrested from his numb-fingered grip.

While Hotch tried to draw breath past his aching chest and ribs, Morgan subdued Calvin, rendering him cuffed and cowed. As the rest of the team and other law enforcement officials converged on the school, the Unit Chief curled in on his pain and sent a heartfelt blessing out to the manufacturers of Kevlar.

xxxxxxxxx

A little over five hundred miles to the south, Ana was window shopping for nursery furniture.

She wanted to wait for Spencer to make any actual purchases, but she knew how quixotic his work schedule could be. Doing the initial legwork and narrowing down their options seemed like a good idea.

In Vermont, as two bullets found their target in Hotch, an agonizing spasm tore through Ana's body. She felt something twist within her. The pain was beyond any she had ever known.

As she lost consciousness, she heard strangers shouting for someone to call 911.

She never felt the impact when her body hit the pavement.


	12. The Bullet Bond

Reid got the call while the team was at the Bridgewater Hospital waiting for Hotch to be checked out.

"Dr. Spencer Reid? Husband of Ana Reid?"

The young agent's intestines turned to ice. He knew what calls that started that way usually meant: tragedy, loss, unimaginable sorrow. The team saw their friend somehow…diminish. He swallowed past the thick lump of dread that had taken up residence slightly below his Adam's apple.

"I'm Spencer Reid."

With varying velocities, the team came to their feet, drawing closer to something unknown, but undeniably awful that had landed in their midst.

"Mr.…uh,…_Dr._ Reid, this is Dr. Martinez, I'm one of the on-call emergency room physicians at St. Sebastian's Hospital."

_Oh, God, why is it always St. Sebastian's?_ It was the hospital that had treated Hotch after he'd been stabbed by George Foyet. It figured prominently in the team's collective nightmare of what had ended in Hotch losing the woman he'd loved. Reid knew there was too much distance between them for him to reach Ana's mind, but he was sure if the worst had happened… if she wasn't in this world anymore…he was _sure_ he'd know. But fear and the anonymous voice calling from an emergency room 500 miles away turned his brain to gel. He was numb. He heard a shrill whining in his ears and hoped he wouldn't pass out.

"Just tell me. Please. What happened?" He felt J.J. place a tentative hand on his arm. The others had surrounded him, searching his face for clues, trying to hear the news that was leaching away what little color he had.

Unfortunately, Dr. Enrique Martinez was relatively new to his position, which is why he'd been designated to make the call; his superiors thought it would give the nervous newcomer a chance to breathe between emergencies. But the stressful atmosphere of the ER still affected him enough to muddy his communication skills and neglect next-of-kin's priorities. Instead of starting his tale with Ana's current condition, he opted for more of a timeline approach.

"Your wife collapsed on the street a short while ago."

_No, no, no. Ana, no._

"Bystanders called 911 and she was brought in by ambulance."

_We're just getting started. You can't leave me now. Ana, no, no, no._

"She came to during the ride and was in a great deal of pain."

_Our baby? Please, no, No, NO._

"My initial examination didn't find anything that could have caused this…event…"

_What?_ A tiny grain of hope surfaced in the morass of worry.

"…so we're scheduling some more tests and we'd like to keep her overnight."

Reid didn't hear much after that. When the words 'death' or 'miscarriage' didn't occur and he grasped the fact that his wife was alive, receiving care, and under observation, the arm holding his phone grew unaccountably heavy. He swayed. If it hadn't been for the supportive hands of his friends, he might have imitated Ana and collapsed on the spot. As it was, while Morgan transferred Reid to a seat, Rossi relieved him of his phone and interrupted Dr. Martinez' ongoing soliloquy.

"Doctor! This is Agent David Rossi of the FBI. What is Mrs. Reid's condition, please?"

"Uh, like I was saying, she's resting comfortably right now. Says she's a little sore and wants to talk to her husband once she's assigned a room…"

"But she's alright?"

"Yes."

"And her pregnancy isn't in any danger?"

"Not that we can see, but, as I was saying, we're running more tests, and…"

Rossi's authoritative voice overrode Dr. Martinez again. "Mrs. Reid's husband is currently out of state, but he'll be back in a few hours. Could you please tell her he's on his way?"

"Of course, as I said, once she's assigned a room…"

Rossi looked at Reid, slumped over in the chair where Morgan had deposited him. Emotionally frayed, the young agent's large, tragic eyes were nonetheless signaling him. Rossi thought he knew what they were trying to say. He gave the newlywed a gentle smile.

"And could you please give her a message? From her husband?"

"Certainly."

"Tell her he loves her. Can you do that, please?"

"Her husband loves her and he's on his way. I'll be glad to."

"Thanks." Rossi closed the connection and handed Reid's phone back to him. Prentiss and Morgan were in chairs flanking his, trying to comfort him with back rubs and shoulder pats. Rossi went down on one knee in front of him and made sure he engaged Reid's brimming eyes.

"She's alright, kid. And your baby's alright, too. She's someplace where, if _anything _goes wrong, help will be immediate." Rossi never spoke of it, and he wasn't sure if anyone other than Hotch knew, but he'd lost his own baby long ago. He understood what it was like to have the world, the future, offered to you, only to have it snatched away when it was so close you could practically taste all the hope and love that had gone into creating it. With all his heart, he prayed Reid and Ana would escape that particular pit of hell.

Reid's steady gaze continued to hold the older man's. There was something unsettling in their brown depths. It made Rossi think Reid was performing calculations, following equations with unlimited variables to unguessable conclusions. It didn't really surprise him when Reid finally spoke.

"Rossi, I need to talk to you. About our baby…and Hotch."

xxxxxxxxxxx

J.J. almost felt sorry for Morgan.

When Reid had uttered a sentence that linked his prospective progeny to their boss, the first thing that came to everyone's mind was the baby's paternity. As surreal as that moment was, it had passed quickly as Reid explained his and Ana's suspicions about a psychic connection having somehow formed between Hotch and their unborn child. But at the advent of yet another weird wrinkle in the fabric of their freakish world, Morgan looked positively ill. Now the specter of strangeness hadn't just bought him a muffin basket…it had offered to wash his car and walk his dog. And maybe even do his laundry. It was insinuating itself into all their lives with unstoppable push and persistence.

Morgan despised it. He longed for the time when magic tricks and memory were the hallmarks of Reid's singularity. Still, Morgan was a good and caring friend at the end of the day.

"So, Pretty Boy, are you thinking that when Hotch got shot today, your kid felt it? That's what brought Ana down?"

"With all the other stuff? Yeah…Maybe…I don't know." He leaned over, burying his face in the palms of his hands. " I just don't know anymore."

It was clear that Reid's anxiety over his nascent family was infiltrating his thought processes. He was having a hard time focusing. All he wanted was to get back to Quantico and Ana. Nothing would be right in his world until he could see and sense for himself that she was alive and well.

xxxxxxxx

When Hotch came limping out of the ER, a white-coated intern in attendance, he didn't understand the way his team was looking at him. The one thing he _did _pick up on was that he was being assessed…but he didn't think it was entirely due to his wounds.

As usual when it came to Hotch, Rossi approached with fatherly concern. Morgan just moved closer, taking up his self-assigned role as protector of his boss' physical welfare. It wasn't sitting well with him that Hotch's injuries had occurred while they'd been partnered.

"Is he okay?" Rossi addressed the intern, who glanced at the clipboard he was carrying which held Hotch's discharge papers.

"Will be." He scratched the bridge of his nose as he scanned the summary section.

"We gave him some painkillers, so he's a little out of it. Still kind of feisty, though; refused to get in the wheelchair. Don't let him drive or operate machinery. You know…the usual. The dressing on his thigh should be changed daily. If anything looks suspicious in the way of infection, have it looked at again."

Hotch swayed slightly. The intern glanced at him, but Morgan gripped his boss' arm with a firm, steadying hand.

"And he's bruised and sore from the bullet that lodged in his vest, so breathing might be a little painful for a couple of days." Tucking the clipboard under his arm, he handed Rossi a prescription. "This should help with the pain. But all in all, he's a lucky man. Make sure he gets some rest."

As the intern returned to the ER, Hotch looked from face to face.

"Okay, guys. I'm not so out of it I can't tell something's going on. What's up?"

Looks were exchanged among the team, but Rossi was still the spokesperson of the moment.

"Let's just go home and get you settled in." He glanced at Reid's still ashen face, then nodded at Morgan to take Hotch out to one of the waiting SUVs.

"We'll talk on the way home, Aaron. For now, let's just say I have a feeling you should start taking better care of yourself. At least for the next few months."


	13. Homeward Bound

Despite Hotch's increasing drug-induced grogginess, after he dragged the whole story of Ana's accident out during the trip home, he said he wanted to accompany the others to St. Sebastian's. No one wanted to desert Reid until he had proof positive that his wife and the life she carried were safe.

Rossi gave it some serious consideration, but then vetoed Hotch's attendance. He was also keenly aware that Morgan would stick with Reid out of love and loyalty, but would always be uncomfortable around the whole psychic situation.

"Sorry, Aaron. You're overruled. Doc said to make sure you get some rest." The older agent turned to Morgan next. "Think you can take him home and make sure he follows orders?"

Secretly relieved at the opportunity to dodge the paranormal this time around, Morgan was quick to take charge of his boss. "Sure. Give me the prescription and I'll get it filled on the way." Rossi handed over the small square of paper, legible only to a pharmacist. Morgan pocketed it, then gave Reid a long, considering look.

"Pretty Boy, she's gonna be okay. I'll call you once I get Boss-man here settled."

"Uh, thanks. Yeah, sure." Reid wasn't really paying attention. He'd been calling St. Sebastian's every twenty minutes, ever since it sank into his stunned brain that once Ana was assigned a room, she'd have phone access. If he couldn't have her touch, he needed her voice. He was beginning to realize that although when his ESP had first come to light, fatigue and fright had made him more susceptible to telepathic episodes, the panic he was feeling now on Ana's behalf seemed to be damping his abilities.

_Just when I need it most…_He tried to calm himself, but couldn't stop the mantra of dread churning through his brain and stomach.

The team split into two groups at the landing strip in Quantico. Morgan and Hotch headed for a pharmacy and then home; the others stayed close to Reid. Even through his distracted panic, the proximity of his friends let Reid pick up the occasional stray thought. Mostly, they hated the helpless feeling of only being able to supply compassionate support. Each one had a desperate desire to grab hold of the situation and _fix _it in some indefinable way. Just _make it right_. For Reid. For Ana.

They had no idea how much that simple desire to help touched Reid's heart.

He was too focused on reaching his wife, but Reid knew he'd find a time to tell each one of his friends how much their silent support meant to him. How it helped him carry on. How it prevented him from dropping to his knees and howling out his pain and his rage at whatever fate was in the process of dishing out this time.

In light of Reid's emotional distress, Rossi took the wheel. He shot a sidelong glance at the man in the passenger seat, twisting his wedding ring in endless, nervous rotations. No one objected when Rossi hit the street with lights flashing and siren wailing. Technically, he wasn't supposed to do that. This wasn't official business. They weren't in pursuit.

But sometimes the letter of the law had to give way before the requirements of friendship…and a young man whose heart was so visibly in the process of breaking.

xxxxxxxx

Morgan was expecting some resistance, so it didn't come as any big surprise when, after he filled his boss' prescription, Hotch began agitating to follow the others to St. Sebastian's.

"I've got doctor's orders and Rossi's orders. You're not going anywhere but home." He slid behind the wheel, glancing at the stubborn set of Hotch's jaw. Then his eyes traveled from the bruised chest that barely moved, forcing itself to take shallow breaths, to the torn pant leg with the white gauze of a bandage showing through the rent in the fabric. When Hotch began to protest again, Morgan played his trump card. "I'm too tired to argue, Hotch. Don't make me touch you someplace where it hurts."

Hotch automatically sighed…or tried to. The attempt at a deeper breath made him flinch and stifle a groan. He finally had to admit he might be done for the day. Jack was staying with his aunt. Hotch didn't want to subject his son to the sight of Daddy all torn and bloody and limping. He decided it might be best to clean up and rest before bringing Jack home tomorrow. Besides, he needed time to process what he'd been told on the flight back to Quantico.

"Fine. You win." Hotch shifted to better accommodate his throbbing thigh wound. "Thanks, Morgan. I don't mean to be a pain in the ass, but if what Reid says is true about some link existing between me and his daughter, I need to know more. I'd like to be there to make sure no one's hurt because of me."

"You really think he's having a girl? You can tell that?" Despite being discomfited by information obtained through paranormal means, Morgan chuckled. He envisioned Reid holding the hand of a tiny person all in pink and ruffles, with rosebud lips and wide, brown eyes. When he turned to look at Hotch, both men let happiness for their friend and teammate ameliorate the ill occurrences of the day.

"I don't know how it happened or exactly when. I just have it in my mind that Ana's carrying a girl."

"I can see him with a daughter…ya know?"

Hotch started to laugh and ended up groaning again. Morgan gave him a meaningful look.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be good. Drop me off home and thanks for the ride."

Morgan's voice had the tone of an adult addressing a child's evasive tactics. "No, no, no, Hotch. It doesn't work that way. I don't 'drop off' guys who've been shot on my watch. I'm taking you in, checking you out, and putting you down for the night."

Despite the bruises and stiffening muscles, Hotch almost managed an audible sigh of resignation. Almost.

xxxxxxx

It took Carol Bescardi every spare moment she had to make some headway.

Every ounce, every speck of time and patience she could dredge up was devoted to nosing her way into the right people's good graces. With every ingratiating lie and pandering move, she reinforced her determination to buck the system and win.

The day she finally made measureable, demonstrable progress was one she'd never forget.

That morning she'd been called before the warden and a representative of the New York State Prison Board. The representative had questioned both of them. The warden had attested to the prisoner's stellar record and sterling character. He had also made the rep aware of his private opinion that Prisoner Bescardi must be the victim of unfortunate circumstances, rather than a true criminal.

No one could be so amenable, so affable, on a day to day basis, and also be guilty of the cruel, irresponsible neglect of which the poor woman was accused. On top of which, she'd been stripped of a lifetime of achievements. Her career was in a shambles, yet she continued to go out of her way to help, instruct, and console her fellow inmates.

Surely such a person would be an even more valuable asset to society outside the prison walls.

Bescardi held her breath when the interview drew to a close and she was dismissed. She'd done her best. If nothing came of it, she told herself she'd drop the façade. It just wouldn't be worth it to kowtow to the dregs of humanity surrounding her, if it didn't help her escape confinement.

She passed by the T.V. room on her way back to her cell. National news was on. When she glanced up, she froze mid-step. While a reporter droned on about a school shooting, film of the event spooled across the screen. Bescardi's lips curled into a snarl. When a fellow inmate asked her if she was alright, she lunged at the unfortunate, spitting at her to 'shut up, you cow.' Shaken by this uncharacteristic outburst from what was generally considered the nicest person ever to be incarcerated, the inmate backed off. Bescardi kept her eyes locked on the television.

She saw Rossi, Reid and the ridiculous watchdog whose name she didn't care to recall. Apparently, the watchdog had been shot. Twice. Bescardi experienced her first genuine smile since being imprisoned. She regretted the stupid FBI agent hadn't died.

_Maybe I can set that right someday. Something to look forward to._

Bescardi watched every news show available for the next two hours, snapping at anyone who expressed a desire to change whatever channel she'd selected.

Seething with hate, she eventually returned to her cell.

Less than ten minutes later, the warden came by to congratulate her.

Prisoner Bescardi had a very good chance of being approved for an experimental work-release program.

She lay on her bunk, weaving plans long after lights-out.


	14. Second Opinion

Reid was out the door and loping through the hospital entrance before the SUV came to a full stop. By the time Rossi, Prentiss, and J.J. reached the information desk, the young agent was nowhere to be seen.

"We're looking for Ana Reid." J.J.'s calm voice was at odds with the elevated blood pressure and heart rates they were all experiencing.

"You're family?"

"Yes. We're with her husband. He just came through here." Rossi was brusque, impatient with health facility protocol. "Where is she?" He reached for his badge.

The woman behind the desk knew when to pull back. "She's in room 731. Elevators are that way." They didn't really need directions. The floor plan of the hospital still existed with horrible clarity in all their minds from when Hotch had been a patient.

The doors opened on the seventh floor. The agents did a mini-stampede past the nurse's station, stopping in the doorway of room 731. No one wanted to intrude on the scene being enacted at Ana's bedside. They knew the newlyweds were giving each other a full account of all that had happened while they were apart. It was a discussion without words, a discussion the depth of which they could only imagine.

Foreheads touching, arms entwined, the Reids pressed together in silence. Spencer's eyes were squeezed shut as though he were blocking out the rest of the world. Ana's eyes opened when she heard three pairs of footsteps halt just outside her room. She flicked a sidelong glance from face to face. A small, vertical line creased the space between her brows. After a few more minutes, Reid pulled back, looking at her with clear concern, but also relief.

_I'd say we dodged a bullet, but that seems like a really bad turn of phrase to use, considering what happened._ His sickly grin was a visual apology, underlining the telepathic one, for the unfortunate wording.

_Considering Hotch __**didn't**__ manage to dodge much of anything, I agree. But…yeah, we did._ _At least as far as I can tell. _She looked at the agents observing her from the doorway. She could feel their concern and curiosity. They had questions and their own need for reassurance, but they were holding back in deference to her husband's need to immerse himself in her.

_Spencer, we have company. Maybe we should go verbal?_

Reid turned from his wife, looking over his shoulder with a grin turned more sheepish than sickly. "Sorry, guys. Didn't mean to ignore you." His eyes went back to Ana's, unable to get enough of her. "I think she's okay."

Feeling they now had permission to enter, Reid's colleagues took up positions around the bed. Ana looked from one to another, then craned to see past Spencer's shoulders to the empty doorway.

"Where's Hotch?" She knew he was injured, but during their telepathic contact, Reid had skipped over the part where the Unit Chief had been sent home.

"Morgan's taking care of him." Rossi understood her concern, knowing there was some indefinable suspicion that Hotch and her pregnancy were connected. "He wanted to come, but I thought he'd been through enough for one day. He's alright, Ana."

J.J. sat on the side of the bed opposite Reid. "He's been through a lot worse. Don't worry about him. Worry about yourself."

Prentiss threw her hat into the ring, trying to circumvent unnecessary anxiety over their boss' plight. "He's tough, Ana. Really. Don't worry about him."

"I have to." For the first time, her voice held a quaver, but she mastered it, forcing it to succumb to the need for clear communication. "Until I understand what's happening here…with Hotch and with our baby…I _have_ to worry about him."

J.J. tried to move the conversation to a less stressful arena; one of factual results rather than hazy supposition. "Have they finished all the tests they wanted you to have?"

That was part of what the prospective parents had been discussing mind-to-mind when the others had entered Ana's room. Reid searched his wife's face as he answered for her.

"They couldn't find anything wrong. Nothing that would account for her collapsing, or for the pain. Nothing." When he transferred his look to J.J., she understood it was due to the fact that she was the only one in the room who could claim to know what it was like to be pregnant and carry a child to term. She wished she could be more help, but the only response she could give was cold comfort.

"That's good…that they didn't find anything. But…" She saw the lingering doubt in Ana's arctic eyes. "…maybe you should get a second opinion. Just for your own peace of mind."

Reid locked eyes with his wife again. "That's kind of what we were thinking." He looked up at Rossi and knew the older agent saw where he was headed.

"You want to go back…_there_…don't you." It was statement, not question. Rossi kept his voice level, his features blank. He didn't want to influence the young couple's decision in any way…even if it was with something as insubstantial as facial expression. "You want to see that doctor again."

Eyes still trained on her husband's, Ana nodded. "I do. And I want Hotch to go, too."

Prentiss darted looks at her teammates, and then broke the silence that followed Ana's statement.

"Can I come, too? This time? Can I? Please?"

xxxxxxxxxx

In the relatively short time it took for Morgan to reach Hotch's townhouse, the Unit Chief's muscles stiffened considerably. Nonetheless, he tried one more time to declare his independence and self-sufficiency.

"It's been a long day, Morgan, and I appreciate everything you've done for me…" Hotch was referencing the takedown of Calvin Saunderson in Vermont as well as the less perilous task of driving him home. "…but I'm fine. I can take it from here. Check on Reid. Go home. Get some rest."

Unfortunately for Hotch, his second-in-command was extremely knowledgeable when it came to injuries; their effects and attributes. He crossed his arms on top of the steering wheel and gave his boss a sly smile.

"You're welcome, Hotch. Anytime." The grin got wider and slyer. "I'll let you go if you can get out, pick up your bag, and walk to your door with nothing more than a limp. Deal?"

Hotch didn't answer. He was saving his strength for the second biggest bluff of the day…the first and worst being his attempt to talk Calvin Saunderson into surrendering quietly. That hadn't gone so well. Hotch hoped for better results this time.

"Sure." He opened the passenger side door and slid out of his seat, congratulating himself on having the forethought to make sure he landed on his good leg; the left one. But this just wasn't Hotch's day. It was necessary to transfer some of his weight to the injured leg. Otherwise, the tasks of retrieving his bag and navigating the walk to his front door could only be accomplished by one-legged hopping or crawling. He had a feeling Morgan would frown on either method of locomotion. Hotch shifted his weight, trying to look nonchalant in the face of his teammate's scrutiny.

His leg buckled.

He was surprised to find himself falling, and reacted by gasping.

The abused flesh and muscles of his chest objected to the sudden intake of air, rendering his ability to breathe at all questionable at best.

In short, Hotch went down. Hard.

Morgan was by his side before he had time to admit defeat…even privately.

"Hotch, c'mon, man. Let me get you inside before the neighbors think I'm mugging you and call the cops."

Once he'd supported his boss through the front door, Morgan went back out to get his go-bag. When he returned, Hotch had collapsed on the living room couch. Morgan dropped the bag in the foyer and roused his friend.

"Hotch! Up! If you stop moving now, you won't be able to get up at all in a couple hours. UP!"

"Yeah, yeah." The Unit Chief knew Morgan was right, but it felt so good to be still and quiet. When he felt himself being lifted, Hotch rallied. "Okay, okay. I'm up."

"Go get changed into whatever you're gonna sleep in." Morgan watched the man hobble toward the staircase. "Boxers and a robe would be best. You need to let that bullet wound breathe, even under the dressing. And I wanna see your chest."

Hotch continued his slow progress without responding. Morgan turned his attention to the kitchen area.

"You hungry?" He called after the figure pulling itself up the stairs, step by step.

"No."

"Too bad. 'Cause you're gonna eat anyway."

Hotch had a feeling it was going to be a long evening. He tried to sigh. But couldn't quite.


	15. In the House of Hotchner

Hotch had been uncharacteristically obedient in Morgan's opinion. Although grateful for the lack of opposition, he was suspicious and a little concerned.

When ten minutes passed and Hotch didn't reappear, Morgan went upstairs in search of him. He found his boss trying to struggle his way out of his torn, blood-encrusted pants. The large swathe of gauze taped over the bullet wound in his thigh kept getting in the way. Morgan watched, giving his friend a chance to succeed in undressing himself. When it became apparent that the task was too much for him in his present condition, Morgan stepped in.

"Lean on me, Hotch." He worked the ruined fabric away from the injury and pulled it down in careful, gentle increments.

Relieved of his pants, Hotch was much more comfortable. He gave the ragged remains a regretful look, reflecting that it was one more suit down the drain. Dressing to what he considered proper FBI code could be an expensive proposition. Morgan let the pants drop and cast a discerning eye on the next layer.

"Boxers off next?"

Hotch looked down at himself as best he could and shook his head. "I think they're okay. I'll leave them for now."

Morgan chuckled. "Man, if it'd been me in that sicko's sights and I'd heard him pull the trigger, I would've needed all _kinds_ of clean underwear."

Hotch managed a weak laugh, but the pain in his upper torso truncated it, turning it into a groan as he hunched his shoulders, trying to move away from the agony.

"Aw, Jeez. C'mon. Lemme see." Morgan sat Hotch on the edge of his bed and removed the rest of his clothes, trying to minimize the discomfort each movement caused. When the undershirt had finally joined everything else in a pile on the floor, Morgan bent to inspect the damage.

It never ceased to amaze him how much worse bruises looked on skin as pale as Hotch's. The same injury of course would have been just as painful, but, on Morgan's tawny coloring, it would have looked much less grotesque. It was something for which he was eternally grateful every time he was the one who suffered wounds. As he noted the blackened, purple-rimmed patch of flesh covering half of the left pectoral muscle and extending down and across Hotch's midriff and ribs, Morgan decided not to make the Unit Chief come downstairs again.

"You need help in the bathroom?"

Hotch shook his head. "No, thanks. Maybe some help getting there?"

"Sure." The acquiescence and acceptance of aid wasn't typical. Morgan's wariness increased.

After supporting Hotch to the bathroom, Morgan went downstairs. He raided the fridge and, by the time Hotch had cleaned himself up and had gimped his way back to his bedroom, Morgan was waiting with a couple of sandwiches, a beer for himself and a glass of water for his leader. He also had the bag from the pharmacy they'd visited on the way home.

He expected at least some token argument when he settled Hotch in bed, propping him against his headboard and placing one of the sandwiches in his hand. His discomfiture increased even more when all the injured man did was stare at the food, glassy-eyed, and then begin to work his way through consuming it with dogged, if unenthusiastic, determination. He only managed to make it halfway, but Morgan had to concede he'd made a worthy effort.

The matter of the bag from the pharmacy brought back a spark of the old, resistant Hotch. Morgan uncapped the bottle of pills, shook one out and, palm extended, offered it to his friend. Hotch's nostrils flared, as they always did when pills were involved…especially those whose aim was to manage pain. Morgan was prepared this time.

"You have a choice, Hotch. You can take _this_…" He jostled the tiny caplet nestled in his hand. "…or you can use _this_." Upending the paper bag, a handful of small tins no more than two inches in diameter fell out, landing on the bedspread next to Hotch's bandaged leg. Hotch bent his neck to look at them, but the movement made the muscles in his chest and surrounding his ribs object.

"What're those?"

"Ancient Oriental cure, my man."

Hotch picked up one of the little discs and looked at the indecipherable characters arranged around a graphic of a tiny, leaping tiger. He pried the lid off and sniffed at the waxy-looking substance within.

"So it's some kind of mentholated stuff."

Morgan tried to look offended. "It's Tiger Balm, Hotch. Good for what ails you." He displayed the pill again, placing it almost beneath the Unit Chief's nose. "One or the other. Which'll it be?"

The injured man's eyes shifted from pill to tin and back. He decided on what he considered the lesser of two evils. "The tiger stuff." He settled back against the headboard and closed his eyes. "I'll put it on later."

"Uh-uh. Doesn't work that way." Morgan returned the pill to its bottle. Picking up one of the tins, he opened it, scooped its contents out in one lump and deposited it on Hotch's chest.

"Morgan! What the hell?!"

"If you don't rub it in, I will. And you know my touch is gonna be a lot more heavy-handed than yours." Another tin was opened. And another.

Hotch began to massage the substance into his sore muscles for all he was worth.

xxxxxxxxx

"Emily, _why_?"

Morgan tried to inject the simple question with all of the confusion and trepidation that had surged through him when Prentiss had announced she would be accompanying Reid, Ana, Rossi and Hotch on yet another journey to the remote environs of upstate New York.

"Because it's there."

Once the decision had been made, Ana had seemed to draw strength from it. Having an executable plan of action went a long way to allaying her fears for her fetus. She and Reid agreed she would remain under observation at St. Sebastian's overnight, but if nothing else alarming occurred, and if the doctors didn't have any more tests to inflict on her, the group would make all possible haste to reach the little, psychic sanctuary where they'd been helped twice before.

J.J. had joined her voice to Prentiss' in clamoring to go along. In the end, Rossi said he'd rather have the official liaison stay behind, just in case her talents were needed to cover for the others' absence. It was a role she'd filled before, so J.J. gave a little sigh of regret, but took comfort when everyone agreed that if it ever became necessary to make the trip a _fourth_ time, it would be J.J.'s turn.

Excited by the prospect, Prentiss had left the others to stay and chat with Ana a while longer. She wanted to let Hotch know their plans and make sure he was fit enough to travel. She was also looking forward to teasing Morgan a little. She knew how he felt about the paranormal. After the tensions of the day, she thought some gentle baiting and bickering might help ease away some of the fear and horror that had attended the schoolroom shootings.

Morgan didn't disappoint. He shook his head and then gestured toward the second floor where a thoroughly tiger-balmed, exhausted Hotch had managed to fall asleep despite the cloying, mentholated odor.

"You've seen what messing with that weird stuff does to a guy, right? Just look at Hotch. The man can't go more than a few months without getting dragged back into that…that…"

" 'That' what?" Prentiss' dark eyes snapped with challenge and humor.

"That _freak_ world!"

Prentiss stretched and yawned, beginning to think of taking her leave and making her way home. "You do realize that when you're up there, where all those psychics are, _you're_ the freak, don't you?"

Morgan glared at her. "You know what I mean." He glanced around Hotch's living room where they'd settled down to discuss the latest sojourn into what Morgan termed 'the wilderness of the weird.'

Morgan looked Prentiss up and down, assessing her. "But someone who doesn't buy into this ESP stuff needs to keep an eye on him. And if it isn't me…then I'm glad it'll be you." The two agents exchanged conspiratorial grins, knowing one of their unspoken priorities was keeping Hotch's back under extreme surveillance.

The grins waned when both heard the sounds of thumping and dragging on the stairs. They turned and saw Hotch, clad only in his underwear, bruised skin adorned with cloudy patches of Tiger Balm, making a slow, stiff, clumsy way down to their level.

"Hotch? Everything okay?" Morgan frowned when there was no answer.

"Ho-o-o-tch?" Prentiss' query didn't evoke any reaction either.

Eyelids drooping, glassy and expressionless, the Unit Chief shuffled past them and into the room that he used as a home office.

"Emily, I think he's sleep walking!" Morgan knew the signs, but he'd never known them to appear in Hotch.

"What should we do?"

Before Morgan could answer, the somnolent man shuffled out of his office and headed back toward the stairs. A large, lavender unicorn bumped up the steps behind him, its rainbow horn clutched in the sleeper's hand. Its huge red lips leering out at them. Slack-jawed, Morgan and Prentiss tracked Hotch's progress back to his bedroom.

When they heard his door close, they stared at each other.

"Do you suppose that has anything to do with the connection to Reid's kid? 'Cause _that_ was one big, steaming pile of weird!" Prentiss couldn't stop shaking her head in disbelief.

Morgan mirrored her stunned look. "I don't know. But those pictures Rossi sent us from Vegas? Not so funny anymore."


	16. Day's End

Reid arranged to spend the night in Ana's hospital room.

Once Prentiss left to check on Hotch and torment Morgan with news of her impending trip to New York's psychic hotspot, Rossi and J.J. weren't far behind her. Rossi offered to drive Reid home, but the newlywed said he wouldn't leave the hospital unless Ana came with him.

When an orderly brought a folding cot into the room along with a pillow and a couple of blankets, J.J. and Rossi decided that was their cue to leave.

The older agent gave the couple an understanding nod. "Call me if either of you need anything."

After turning down the lights and laying out the bedding, Reid ignored the cot. He crawled into the narrow hospital bed beside his wife and wrapped his arms around her as tightly as he dared.

_I won't break, Spencer. You don't have to be afraid to get too close._ He caught the bubbling feel of merriment in Ana's thoughts.

_Can't help it. That was scary. _But he took her at her word and pulled her closer, inhaling the familiar, comforting fragrance of her hair. _You smell like cherries and almonds. Did you know that?_

_Kinda._ Her mental smile widened. _That's my shampoo. Check out the label next time we're home._

_Home._

His mind fastened on more practical matters which would confront them in the immediate future. Tomorrow, in fact, if all was well and Ana received a clean bill of health.

_We'll need to pack and see if Garcia can put together the travel arrangements. You know…plane tickets, car rental._ A blip of laughter threatened to surface. _I wonder if she can make reservations for us at that B&B?_

Ana snuggled deeper. _What do you think Miss Millie will say when we room together this time?_

Finally, Reid's laugh was full and audible. _I think she'll want to inspect our wedding rings __**very**__ carefully. Even then, we might have to…I don't know…__**sign**__ something?... relieving her of responsibility for 'improper relations' occurring under her roof?_

Ana snorted, muffling herself against Spencer's stomach. Her efforts to conform to the quiet decorum of a hospital setting failed when her somewhat ticklish husband reacted to being nuzzled about the ribs with spasms of laughter. The couple let themselves go, releasing the tensions of the day and embracing each other as well as their relief at having survived an unexpected threat.

Down the hallway at her station, the night nurse smiled as she heard the young couple in room 731. It wasn't often that mirth lightened the atmosphere on her shift. She knew she should check on them and make sure the young woman was alone in her bed, getting the rest she needed. But after due consideration, she elected to respect their privacy.

There was a tremendous amount of truth in the saying 'laughter is the best medicine.'

xxxxxxxxxx

Rossi was tired.

After returning the Bureau SUV and signing the paperwork that officially checked the vehicle back in, he and J.J. went together to the subterranean garage in search of their respective cars.

"Maybe I'll see you guys tomorrow, unless Ana gets out, and Hotch is mobile, and you all head north at the crack of dawn." J.J. gave him one of her gentle, wistful smiles; the kind that, over the years, had made so many situations easier to bear. "I still wish I could come, too. It's hard to believe in all…_this_…without being able to see that place."

"Oh, it's all _too_ real, J.J." Rossi's look was sad, bordering on resigned. "The problems we bring with us when we go are all too real as well. What bothers me most when we're there, is I can't help. I have to stand by and rely on powers I don't understand, and people who virtually live their lives on a different plane of existence. Their mental lives, anyway." He shrugged. "It's hard. To say the least."

After a moment, J.J. did what she does best. She raised her arms, clasped them around Rossi's neck, and hugged him. "I can't fix it. But I _can_ share it." She released him and stepped back. "So if you need a touchstone, or a laugh, like having someone describe to you what Garcia's wearing that day…call me. Okay?"

And her goal was accomplished. Rossi's grin was genuinely grateful.

"It's a deal." He watched her go to her car and unlock it. As she slid behind the wheel, Rossi called after her.

"J.J.!"

She looked up, brows raised, inquisitive.

"Thanks, kiddo."

Her brows rose a fraction higher. "For what?"

"For being so blessedly normal."

xxxxxxxxx

As much as he wanted to go home and get reacquainted with his own bed, Rossi knew he wouldn't rest until he'd checked on Hotch one last time. He pulled out of the BAU garage and hit the speed dial for Morgan's cell. The call was picked up on the first ring, but it was Prentiss' voice that answered.

"Emily?" Rossi frowned. At this point, anything unexpected was to be treated with the utmost suspicion and an extremely jaundiced eye. "Why are you on Derek's phone? Is everything okay?"

"Uh, yeah, yeah. Everything's fine…mostly."

Her tone activated Rossi's oh-my-God-_now_-what radar. Without thinking, he changed course for the Unit Chief's townhouse complex. "Define 'mostly.' And where's Morgan?"

"He's upstairs taking a look at Hotch." Her voice was muted, as though she were distracted in addition to trying to avoid speaking too loudly.

"And you're on his phone because…why?"

"He left it down here. Didn't want it going off and waking Hotch up…you know…like if some worry-wart called at an inopportune time?"

Prentiss' attempt to lighten the tension she could feel seeping across their connection fell flat. Rossi's sigh was deep and edged with impatience. He let a few beats of silence fall into the exchange before wading back in.

"I'm on my way. I think you'd better tell me what's going on before I get there, Prentiss. Otherwise, I might do something vaguely disciplinary when I arrive." She caught the authoritative tone that Rossi usually kept in reserve, only trotting it out on special occasions that merited something akin to a verbal spanking. Today was not a day to test the older agent's threshold of tolerance.

"There's not much to tell, Rossi. Honest. I got here and Hotch was already asleep. Morgan was kind of surprised that he wasn't harder to handle, but we figured the news about Reid's kid forging some kind of link with him stunned him into temporary obedience." She recalled the pleased expression on Morgan's face as he'd congratulated himself on getting some food into their boss, and medication, if not _in _him, at least _on _him.

"So far, so good." Rossi was taking advantage of the afterhours, light traffic and driving as fast as he thought he could without risking a speeding ticket. "I'm almost there, Prentiss. Better spill whatever you're holding back."

"Well, we were sitting in the living room talking when Hotch came down the stairs."

"So?"

"Morgan thinks he was sleepwalking."

"Did you try to wake him up?" Rossi's stomach gave a queasy squeeze. He'd spent more nights than he cared to remember in Hotch's company both on the road and at home. Two things he knew: Hotch didn't snore, and he absolutely didn't sleepwalk.

"We talked to him, but he didn't respond. He walked right past us and went into his office."

Rossi almost smiled. The thought of Hotch fast asleep and still trying to work hovered at the edge of believability. Prentiss' next words disabused him of that pleasant notion.

"And that's where it got weird. He came out with this purple unicorn-thing, went right by us again, and took it upstairs to his bedroom." When Rossi's end of the line transmitted nothing more than the ambient sounds of an automobile in transit, Prentiss felt she had to ask.

"Rossi, those pictures you took of him in Vegas sleeping with that thing, and carrying it around…it _was _a set-up, wasn't it? I mean, Hotch doesn't really travel with a toy unicorn, does he? "

Suddenly Rossi felt like a schoolyard drug dealer who'd pushed something unsavory on an unsuspecting innocent…luring him into addiction.

For all he knew, he'd hooked Hotch on sleeping with cuddly, plush mythological creatures.

xxxxxxxxx

The trio of agents stood in the doorway and watched their leader sleep.

He was lying on his back. He was peaceful.

He was in full possession of the lavender unicorn, snugging it under his arm where it avoided contact with the worst of his bruises.

Prentiss tilted her head to one side, observing the aesthetic value of the scene. "Kind of an interesting study in shades of purple, don't'cha think?"

Morgan gave her a scathing look, unimpressed with how the toy complemented the color of damaged flesh. "What'd'ya think, Rossi…should we just leave him alone with it?"

"What do _I_ think?" The older agent expelled a breath redolent with resignation. "I think when he wakes up, I'm gonna get blamed for this."


	17. Oddities in Blood and Bed

By morning, Ana was chafing at the bit for her release.

When the attending physician got to her room as part of his regular rounds, he found her dressed and pacing. Her husband was keeping close as he talked on the phone, tracking the doctor's every move.

"You're looking much better this morning, Mrs. Reid. Although, you should have waited for me before getting into your street clothes." Holding a clipboard, the doctor flipped through several pages, reviewing the previous day's test results. He hesitated over one page, frowning.

Reid noticed his expression. "Rossi, can I call you back? The doctor's here and I want to be sure everything's good." Nodding at the response on the other end of the call, he closed the connection and gave his full attention to the perplexed man reading Ana's chart.

"I'm Dr. Spencer Reid. Is something wrong with my wife's lab work, Doctor?

Reid's laying claim to the title 'Dr.,' made the man glance up, but he returned to studying the columns of numbers on the printout in his hand before responding.

"Uh, no…not really. Just…," he flipped the page, scanned more data and then returned to the set that had originally captured his attention. "…It's just some of the blood chemistry is a little…odd…I guess you could call it."

"May I?" Reid reached his hand toward the clipboard.

Reluctant to hand over official records to a stranger, the doctor chose to relate the findings himself. "When your wife arrived yesterday we drew blood and ran a full analysis. There were elevated levels of…well,…lots of things, apparently. Lipids, oxygen, various amino acids. Some of these are normal to pregnancy. Some are indicators of intense activity." He looked at Ana. "But she wasn't engaged in anything that could be called strenuous. …There could have been a mix-up in the lab, I suppose, but…. These look like neurotransmitters and something else…I'm not quite sure what…."

Reid had kept his hand out. As the doctor gave his wife a considering look, Reid pulled the clipboard from his grip, encountering only token resistance.

Looking at the data, Reid's eidetic memory drew instant, accurate cross-references with the data he'd seen on the lone flash drive that Rossi had saved for him from Dr. Carol Bescardi's lab around two years ago; the data that showed changes in blood chemistry whenever his or Ana's psychic abilities were engaged. He'd found the implications fascinating and had meant to pursue them, but building a life with Ana had sidetracked him and relegated Bescardi's experiments to a back burner in his mind.

While numbers tumbled in Reid's brain, the doctor gave his patient a cursory examination.

_Spencer! He's looking at me like I'm some kind of freak. Say something!_

Cognizant of the fact that he'd never specified exactly _what _type of doctor he himself was, Reid dove in and did some verbal tap dancing for Ana's sake.

"Ah. I see what's going on here." The doctor looked at Reid, skepticism and the desire for a logical, quantifiable explanation warring in his eyes. "When my wife was brought in she was suffering acute pain and fear. I'm sure you know stressors like that, if of sufficient duration and extremity, render the blood-brain barrier permeable. Your lab technicians are extraordinarily efficient. They should be congratulated for drawing the sample and performing the analysis with such alacrity, before her body's natural processes compensated and returned her to standard levels."

Reid took a mental breath and hoped the doctor would accept his glib reassurance. "I appreciate what you've done for us, Doctor. It's good to know there's someplace we can rely on in an emergency. Thank you." Reid gave the clipboard back and again extended his hand, this time for the purpose of shaking the doctor's, signaling the end of this meeting.

But this was one medical professional who intended to have the last word. Besides, he cared about first-time parents and their unborn offspring a great deal, having recently become a father himself.

"Dr. and Mrs. Reid, I would need to do further analysis, but some of those elevated proteins and hormones could indicate genetic anomalies." He didn't want to scare this young couple, and clearly the husband was knowledgeable about things medical. But he felt duty-bound to warn them anyway.

"I really think you should consider looking into this immediately. If not here, then with your own doctor. And it might be a good idea to think about genetic counseling before too much time passes."

_Spencer, what's he talking about? I'm getting a bad feeling._

Reid was instantly alert. _You mean a bad feeling about the baby? From the baby?_

_No. I mean we need to get out of here before someone gets too curious about us…about how __**special **__we are?_

_Got it._ Reid smiled, projecting as much reassurance as he could. "We'll be seeing our own physician in the next couple of days. I guarantee you, we'll follow up."

The doctor finally smiled, visibly relaxing now that these prospective parents had shown what he considered proper concern. "Who's your regular doctor? I can send our findings along to him. It'll save some time and having to put Mrs. Reid through the same battery of tests."

_Uh-oh. _

_Damn! We __**still **__ don't have a name for…_image of the doctor…

_I know! But he thinks __**you're**__ a medical doctor, Spencer. Maybe he'll give the data to you?_

Reid returned the doctor's smile. "Actually, we were planning on stopping by our doctor's office as soon as we leave here. Would it be possible for me to take a copy of your test results with me now?"

The doctor thought for a moment and then shrugged. "I don't see why not. I'll bring these to the nurse's station and ask them to make a copy. You know you'll need to sign a couple of release forms: one for the records…" He turned a smile toward Ana. "…and one for your wife."

He looked back as he left to initiate the discharge process. "Good luck with everything. If you or your doctor have any questions, please feel free to call."

Once they were alone, Reid and Ana sighed in unison.

_I forgot all about that finding that our blood wasn't quite normal. I'm sorry, Ana. I should've followed up on that, but I let it slide._

'_S'okay. We've been busy, you know?_

_Yeah. Next stop New York?_

_Today, if possible. If Hotch is up to it, that is._

xxxxxxxxx

Morgan had sent Rossi and Prentiss home, reasoning that, since he wasn't part of the contingent heading into the wilderness, he could catch up on sleep after they'd left.

He wanted to be there when Hotch woke up. First, to help with the abused muscles when they had stiffened as much as he thought they would. Second, to watch Hotch's reaction when he opened his eyes to the lurid lips of his unicorn nap-buddy. Morgan told himself it wasn't so much for the possible entertainment value, but to ascertain if Hotch could remember fetching the toy from his office in the first place.

Morgan wasn't disappointed on either account.

Before he left, Rossi had pulled a light blanket over the sleeping man, but Hotch had managed to kick it partly off with his good leg sometime during the night. As the orange and pink of dawn seeped into the sky beyond the bedroom window, Morgan brought a cup of coffee upstairs along with some items he thought would help ease Hotch's pain. He took a seat across the room, but with a good view of man and unicorn.

Before long, Hotch began to stir.

Morgan could tell he was awake when he emitted a low groan. There was an abortive attempt to stretch, which ended in a soft whimper. Morgan almost went to him at that point. He'd unearthed an old heating pad and had found some therapeutic ice packs in the freezer. With both remedies at the ready, as well as the still-unused pills from the pharmacy, he hoped to work his boss back into at least a semblance of mobility.

Eyes closed, Hotch brought a tentative hand to the wound on his leg. When he'd assured himself that, yes, he had indeed been hurt and was sporting a rather large pad of gauze as a result, he let the hand travel up to his ribs. After exploring the extent of the damage to his upper torso, he dropped his arm back to the mattress beside him. An experimental breath to test how far his lungs would inflate before hitting the wall of pain that was his chest, elicited another groan. At last, Hotch turned his head and opened his eyes.

Wide.

Wider.

Morgan bit his lip to keep quiet.

The Unit Chief was so riveted on his plush companion, he didn't realize that he had human company as well. When he spoke, his morning voice cracking with dread and denial, it was clear he thought he was alone.

"Oh, God. Not you. Not again." He tried to throw the beast from him, but somehow the thing's muzzle snagged around his elbow. When he tried to pull his arm away, the gesture pulled the beast over onto him, bringing the over-stuffed lips ever closer to his own.

Flat on his back with the unicorn looming over him, confused loathing in his eyes, struggling against his injury-induced clumsiness, it looked as though Hotch was trying to fend off an importunate lover. And losing the battle.

When Morgan realized the creature was in danger of snagging on the bandage and tangling in the blanket, he took pity on his boss and went to him. Unfortunately, he couldn't stifle his laughter. When he spoke, it bubbled out, bringing more outrage into the victim's already expressive eyes.

"Hotch. H-h-ha-hotch." Morgan grasped the unicorn, pulling it back so it wasn't in quite the domineering, smothering position that was enraging his injured friend.

"Calm down, man. Let me help you. C'mon. Lie still."

"Get. It. OFF!" Hotch finally managed to disengage from his attacker.

Morgan lifted the creature up and removed it to the chair. "There. See? It's all gone. All safe now. All-l-l-l-l better." Speaking to the Unit Chief as though he were a child waking from a nightmare and in need of soothing didn't have the gentling effect it would have on someone decades younger.

"Who the hell put that thing next to me?" Hotch's eyes narrowed, blazing with suspicion. "Was Rossi here?"

Morgan sat on the side of the bed and tried to keep his voice level, devoid of humor. "Rossi _was_ here, but he didn't have anything to do with it." He could tell more explanation would be needed before he'd be believed. "You got the unicorn yourself, Hotch."

The eyes still signaled rampant suspicion.

"Swear to God, Hotch. You were sleepwalking last night."

_Rampant_ suspicion.

"You came down the stairs and went into your office. When you came out, you had it with you."

Waning suspicion.

"You dragged it up the stairs after you and took it to bed."

Disbelief.

"Prentiss was here. We both saw you. You can ask her."

Growing horror.

"Rossi came over and we all saw you sleeping with it. No one touched the unicorn except for you, Hotch. Honest."

Total horror.

"We wondered if maybe it's all tied up with this weird link-thing and Reid's kid, ya know?"

Hotch swallowed and tried to struggle his way up. Morgan slipped an arm behind him and supported him to a sitting position.

"Why don't you let me work on you for a while…see if I can get your muscles into a little better shape? Then we'll have an idea of how long before you guys can make that trip upstate."

Hotch's gaze was focused inward, testing for any memory of retrieving the unicorn. When he came up empty, he gave Morgan a troubled look.

"Oh, no matter what, I'm leaving for New York today." Hotch gave the lavender animal sitting in his bedroom chair a look of melded disgust and dread.

"The more distance between me and that…_thing_…the better."

Morgan rolled up his sleeves and put on his best gangster-from-an-old-movie voice. "Ya wants I should deep-six it, Boss? Make it sleep wit' da fishes?"

The response wasn't what he'd expected.

"No. Not yet."

Hotch felt Morgan watching him, and knew he should allay some of the man's concern about his wanting to keep the toy. With a conciliatory quirk of one eyebrow, he joined in the old-movie-voice game.

"Not yet, Morgan.…Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But _soon_, and for the rest of _it's_ life… you can make it suffa."

_But first, it needs to pay Rossi a visit…_


	18. Off to See the Wizard

By now, making travel arrangements to the nameless settlement in upstate New York was old hat for Garcia.

It no longer bothered her that the place didn't exist on any of her maps. It didn't make her blink when she sent her babies off into the wilderness where an equally undocumented physician waited. But this time, she did sigh with envy when it was announced that Prentiss would be making the trip.

Garcia dearly loved all things that dared to rise above and beyond average expectations. She herself strove daily to reflect her conviction that, for better or worse, separating oneself from the herd was a lonely, but laudable, path to travel. Even if it wasn't a conscious choice. She hadn't quite managed to find her own tribe yet, but she rather thought it was waiting for her someplace hidden. Someplace like the town where her friends were headed. Without exploring her motivation, she had turned herself, with glitter and rhinestones, color and hope, into a beacon, calling for that elusive tribe to claim her as one of their own.

In the meantime, there was work.

Sometimes she wondered about being employed by a place like the FBI, not that she'd had much choice in the matter. She'd hacked her way into the position. When she'd been apprehended for cyber-trespassing thanks to exercising a combination of curiosity and technical genius bordering on savant, she'd been faced with severe legal penalties on the one hand, or a safely proscribed and monitored government job on the other. She'd been granted the further choice of applying to several different branches of the Bureau.

Resigned to her fate, she'd still managed a mini-rebellion. She'd sent her resume to the BAU on luridly pink, scented paper. Nonetheless, she'd been called in to interview for one of the teams. Since she had no choice about accepting a position, which meant _someone_ had to hire her, she assumed _someone_ had lost the coin toss and been forced to meet her. Penelope's heart had plummeted when she saw her interviewer; a grim, suited man with piercing eyes that said he was FBI from his chromosomes outward. She knew the type. Slavish adherence to rules, someone who hid his own lack behind the claim that 'this is the way it's _supposed_ to be…if you don't agree, you're wrong…and I'll try to change you by burying you in my own hell of slavish adherence to rules and regulations.' People who led such lackluster lives, whose chains and shackles began in their own minds and ended by strangling every spark of creativity or freedom in others as well as themselves, chilled her soul.

But what awaited her beyond the fierce façade was a gentle, almost shy, spirit with a considerate, loving heart. And gathered behind the deceptively stern leader was the family she'd missed for so long.

Every day Garcia was grateful for the perceptive skills that had made Hotch hire her. But she _still_ thought her tribe was waiting. Somewhere. Maybe just over the meadow and through the woods…

She finished finalizing the travel arrangements and sighed.

_Well...Prentiss this time…J.J. the next. Maybe it'll be __**my **__turn after that. Someday. Or maybe I'll just go on my own. Someday._

xxxxxxxxx

"You sure you guys are up for this?"

Morgan had warmed and chilled and stretched and kneaded Hotch's muscles into the best shape he could hope to attain without the benefit of a few days of good, solid healing time. He'd bullied some food into him and helped him pack. He'd returned the lavender unicorn to Hotch's office, wondering why the guy held onto it at all, if he loathed it as much as he seemed to.

"You _sure_ you don't want me to get rid of this for you? Take it down to Toys for Tots, or Goodwill, or something?"

The Unit Chief had given him a sidelong look.

"No, thanks. I have plans for it."

Morgan hadn't delved any further. But when he'd seen a faintly evil smirk turn Hotch's handsome face into a devil's mask, he was glad he wasn't in Rossi's shoes.

Now, the sub-set of the team that was scheduled to travel upstate had gathered at the Stafford Regional Airport. Morgan was seeing them off, having brought Hotch, since he didn't want the man driving until his mobility and reaction time were no longer subject to the aftereffects of Calvin Saunderson's bullets.

Morgan looked at the group before him and repeated his question, intending it primarily for Hotch and Ana.

"You guys are _sure_ you're up for this?"

Hotch grunted affirmation, but didn't bother to look up. Morgan had made him wear sweatpants in deference to his leg wound. The sartorially strict Unit Chief was still uncomfortable, at every step he fidgeted with the fabric that lay over the gash in his thigh.

Reid and Ana looked into each other. Despite being able to access her thoughts and feelings, Spencer checked again for her continued determination to make the trip. He was open to letting her change her mind. This time, it was a matter of where _she_ went, he'd go, too. But then his wife placed a hand on her abdomen and gave him a puzzled glance.

_Kick?_

_Kick. _

The misty, golden aura Reid always saw enveloping her gave a small flare of uncharacteristic lavender emanating from the place directly beneath her palm. Simultaneously, his peripheral vision caught a swirl of lilac-gold glittering…and then vanishing…around Hotch's chest and shoulders.

Reid spoke for them all.

"We're going. We _have_ to, Morgan."

With a sigh of acceptance, Morgan turned to Rossi and Prentiss. "You guys call when you get there and keep us up to date." He cast a worried, almost sorrowful look at the other three travelers. "And don't come back with any creepy, new powers, okay? Deal?"

Rossi's eyes crinkled at the corners, well aware of Morgan's wish to return to pre-ESP times. He stuck out his hand for a farewell shake. "We'll do our damnedest."

His reassurance was shattered when Hotch, still picking at the fabric irritating his thigh, glanced up and muttered. "Calm down. The only ones who need to worry are Reid, Ana and Melinda."

Brows furrowed throughout the group.

"Who's 'Melinda?'" Prentiss thought it might be someone waiting for them at the end of the line until she saw the wide, apprehensive eyes of Dr. and Mrs. Reid.

"We were going over baby names last night in the hospital. Melinda's at the top of the list."

"Oh. Okay. Cool name." Prentiss didn't see anything odd about the matter until Reid clarified.

"We haven't told anyone yet. In fact, we never even said the name out loud."

Hotch licked suddenly dry lips and tried to avoid all eye contact.

Morgan no longer questioned the trip's necessity. In fact, he almost pushed them onto the plane.

xxxxxxxxx

Julio Ruiz had had another long, strenuous, satisfying day.

He finished typing up the records he was keeping on his last patient, a precognitive dreamer who was having the usual trouble all such gifted ESP-ers experienced at one time or another. The patient was corroding her own soul with guilt and conflict.

Her dreams forecast everything from inconvenience to catastrophe. She was caught in the loop of what the old doctor termed 'Cassandra complex.' If she warned victims, she was met with suspicion and disbelief. She was labeled 'crazy,' 'insane,' 'nuts.' If she _didn't_ try to warn anyone, or take action herself to circumvent the future occurrence, she berated and hated herself.

Julio sighed. It would take several more sessions of telepathic conferencing with more seasoned precogs before his patient could find her way out of her dilemma. At least, he hoped she'd come through. Otherwise, she would be one of the unfortunates whose ability was truly more curse than gift.

Julio stretched, closed his files and logged out of his computer. He slipped into his jacket and checked on the old doctor.

_I am about to go home, my friend, to see what Miss Millie has made for our supper. See you tomorrow, yes?_

The rolling, deep sea-voice came back. _If there's any coconut on it, you're welcome to eat with me, Julio. I'll be leaving soon, too._ There was a pause, but the Palero priest knew the communication wasn't over. When the doctor's voice returned, it held an unexpected blend of humor, concern and anticipation.

_Would you be so kind as to tell Millie to ready herself? Five guests will be looking for lodging with her tonight._ Another pause. _Tell her she won't be overrun. Only three rooms will be needed. I plan on taking one of the visitors home with me._

After Ruiz had left, the doctor closed his eyes and dove deep into his inhumanly long memory.

_Aaron. So like my little brother. It'll be good to see you. And don't worry, Aaron. I'll fix it, whatever 'it' is. I'll __**always**__ fix it. But we really must find a better way to shield you from all this…_


	19. Sanctuary

Garcia had thoughtfully arranged for their rental to be a large, spacious town car.

Rossi had taken the wheel, keeping Hotch in the front beside him, and putting the other three members of their party in the wide backseat. When they reached their destination, he paused at the edge of town, letting the engine idle as they scanned the scene before them.

"Huh. So this is the place." Prentiss leaned forward, craning her neck to see as much as possible through the windshield. "Looks so normal. Even kind of cozy, you know?"

Rossi let his eyes drift to the far end of the street. The hospital waited, as it always had. Despite the good things that had been accomplished there, he felt a twinge of anxiety. _From this point on, I'm not in charge. I'll be lucky to understand or even perceive whatever happens._ Nonetheless, a faint smile touched his lips. He was remembering sitting down to tea with Millie. He realized now how grateful he was that someone so comfortably unremarkable was available to reassure visitors of the beauty inherent in a simple life.

Ana's eyes were fastened on Reid. _What do you see, Spencer?_

_Take my hand, I'll show you._

She twined her fingers through his and let her lids drift shut, blocking out anything that would distract her from sharing her husband's psychic vision. Her sudden intake of breath made Rossi and Prentiss turn from their own inspection of the village.

Prentiss frowned, then looked at Rossi. "What's she doing?"

"The way I understand it, if Reid helps her, she can see through his eyes."

"And that's better than opening her own, because…?"

"Auras."

"Oh, yeah. Forgot about that." Prentiss watched as Ana leaned her forehead against her husband's shoulder. Reid's eyes were wide, and in constant motion. His smile spread with a wondrous sort of joy. After a moment's observation, Prentiss looked back at the town, trying to imagine what her colleague was seeing that could account for such an expression.

_Do you see it, Ana?_

_Yes. Oh, yes. It's beautiful. _Her tone grew serious. _You miss this, don't you? When we're back in the normal world…you miss this._

_Yes and no. _Reid gave a deep sigh. _But you're right: it's beautiful._

Through the falling shades of twilight, his ESP-er eyes saw banners and bursts of color, twining and interweaving. Some were textured, the variations in shade and hue adding extra dimension. The hospital at the end of the road was a chest of jewel-toned fireworks. Sprays and fountains of sparks shot across more sedate fields of visible energy. When Reid blinked, the afterimage of so much light played across his closed lids. He looked away from the town's psychic sanctuary. Along the sides of the street, emanating from a few homes he could see the same sorts of auras, but quieter, calmer.

Ana disengaged herself and sat up straighter. Prentiss was looking at her, questions blazing their own kind of light in the depths of her dark eyes.

"So _he_… ," she pointed her chin at Reid, "…sees auras. And you never do?"

Ana shook her head. "Nope. I see just the way you do."

"Mmmmm." Prentiss took another look out the side window nearest her. "Looks like just another sleepy, little town getting itself tucked in for the night." She glanced toward the passenger seat in front of her. "What about you, Hotch? You see anything weird?" Silence. "Hotch?"

The Unit Chief was leaning toward his door, forehead resting against the window. Rossi bent forward, the better to see his friend's face. Prentiss, Ana and Reid exchanged glances and then all craned their necks at varying angles to see more of their leader.

"Well, wha'd'ya know… Talk about needing to be tucked in for the night." Prentiss grinned.

"He's asleep." Rossi stated the now obvious.

Reid's and Ana's eyes shifted to each other.

_I wonder when Hotch started needing a nap-time._ Ana's hand rested on her abdomen again.

_Dunno. But I'm __**really**__ glad we're here._

xxxxxxxxxx

Rossi pulled the car up to Millie's B&B.

Before getting out, he turned to Prentiss. "You're about to meet the proprietress of the best accommodations in town. She can be a little…overwhelming…but she means well. So behave yourself, Emily."

"Jeez, Rossi. What do you think I am?" She was inspecting the overly-ornate, Victorian façade of the house where they'd be staying.

"I know what you are. That being said, if you find yourself in need of an escape route at any time, give her one of your business cards. It'll distract her enough for you to make a run for it." Rossi grinned. "But you better be fast."

Reaching across the seat, he gave Hotch's shoulder a gentle shake. "Aaron. Wake up, Aaron. We're here. Come on. Wake up."

The Unit Chief made a soft noise, something between a snort and a gasp, and pulled himself up in his seat, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He looked around, finally fastening on Rossi. "I fell asleep."

"Yes, you did."

Hotch frowned. He was usually the one who stayed awake while everyone else napped. He could feel the others' concerned stares. "I don't know. Something about the motion of the car just put me out. Couldn't keep my eyes open."

Prentiss chuckled. When Reid put a warning hand on her knee, she glanced at him. He gave his head the subtlest shake. Teasing Hotch wouldn't be appreciated under the circumstances.

"Let's let Millie know we're here." Rossi opened his door and stepped out into the street.

When Hotch followed suit, he had to catch himself on the doorframe. The inactivity of the flight and the long drive hadn't done his muscles any favors. The effect of all the work Morgan had done earlier in the day seemed to have reached its expiration point. The others exited the backseat. Prentiss stood by Hotch, one hand hovered near his waist, the other was ready to take his arm.

"Do you need help getting in, Hotch?" She eyed the stairs leading up to Millie's porch.

"Don't think so…I just need a minute, okay?"

"Sure. Sure." Prentiss stepped away, but wouldn't leave. Maybe her boss just needed to get his balance, but Morgan had warned her that he didn't think Hotch would be action-ready for a couple of days.

Reid, Ana and Rossi unloaded the luggage onto the sidewalk. Rossi noticed Prentiss standing guard by Hotch, but before he could ascertain if anything was really wrong, the front door of Millie's B&B opened and they were engulfed by the local avalanche of hospitality.

"Oh, Mr. Rosie…Dave!...You're back! Welcome! Welcome! Oh! And Mr. Hutchiner! And the young people!" Millie's eyes flicked toward Prentiss. A frisson of curiosity and the tiniest touch of jealousy shivered through her. If there was now a 'Mrs. Rosie,' she would wait for…Dave!...to perform the proper introductions. At second glance, she thought the stranger was more likely to be a 'Mrs. Hutchiner.'

Rossi's smile was genuine. "Millie. It's good to see you. I hope you have room for some tired FBI agents again?" He knew full well that if her rooms had been otherwise occupied, Millie would probably have pitched tents on the lawn rather than lose the opportunity to house her connections to the darkly mysterious world of mayhem.

Everyone saw Reid and Ana stiffen, suddenly alert.

_He's here!_

_He knew we were coming!_

Even the non-gifted could sense the powerful presence strolling down the street toward them. It stepped out of the shadows smiling, looking from face to face.

_Doctor!_

_Shhhhh. All in good time, telepath. But welcome back. I see you and your empath have been busy. _Reid caught a crackle of affectionate humor in the exchange. The old man walked directly to Hotch. He took him by the shoulders and turned him away from the support of the car door. The two men looked into each other's eyes in silence. Prentiss glanced from person to person, unsure of anything, except the respectful reverence she could see in the faces surrounding her.

_This has to be the old guy. The one who runs this place._

She took a step backwards when the doctor's head turned and she was subjected to a slow, thorough, head-to-toe examination. She swallowed and decided she would be wise to keep even her thoughts respectful at this point. The doctor raised one brow before returning his attention to Hotch, agreeing with the wisdom of her decision.

"Doctor." Hotch inclined his head toward the old man, and then accorded him one of his rare smiles; the sort that reached his eyes, but didn't make him do what Rossi called 'that fox-face thing.'

"Hmmmmm." The doctor emitted his physician's hum, holding Hotch at arm's length and surveying his body. "I need some time with you first…before anyone else."

The doctor looked at Rossi next. "I'm taking Aaron with me for the night. You're welcome to stop by after Millie gets you settled. I know how a father worries." He picked up the bag that belonged to Hotch without asking if it was the correct one. Draping an arm across his shoulders, he pulled the agent around and began the short walk to his own home, keeping his pace slow in deference to his patient's limping, uncertain progress.

After a few feet, the doctor looked back over his shoulder at Reid and Ana. _Don't worry, empath. I'll get to you tomorrow after you've have a night's rest. Sleep well, and be assured that your child is in no immediate danger. However, it __**is**__ doing some rather remarkable things. Let me start by examining this man first._

Silence reigned as they watched the doctor and Hotch continue down the street. It was finally broken by Prentiss' exasperated sigh.

"Okay. Someone's going to have to catch me up on a few things. I get that that's the doctor you came to see…" She aimed an inquiring look at Rossi. "…but what was all that about a father worrying?"

"Later, Emily." Rossi picked up his bag and turned to Millie. "Miss Millie, may I present Miss Emily Prentiss…a real, live, _female_ FBI agent."

Millie's eyes fairly glowed with excitement…and relief that this new woman had no marital ties to her friend Dave... her lips pursed into a perfect 'O' of anticipation.

Prentiss blinked, then patted her pockets for her stash of business cards. If, as Rossi had said, they were the necessary diversion enabling escape, she felt she might need more than one. When Millie linked arms with her, pulling her up the porch steps and talking about making some time for a good, long 'just us girls' talk…Prentiss regretted only having brought a dozen or so.

xxxxxxxxx

Carol Bescardi found it easier to maintain her model-prisoner façade with the anticipation of participating in a work-release program tucked away in a corner of her mind.

The same corner that harbored images of certain test subjects and FBI agents who owed her a new career and a refurbished reputation. The same corner that birthed dreams of fame and veneration not only equaling, but surpassing what she had lost.

_Not lost_, she reminded herself with the taste of bitter venom bubbling up from her gut into her throat. _Not lost…__**stolen**__, __**taken**__, __**ripped from me!**_

The wheels were grinding forward and Bescardi had been approved. The search was on for a suitable situation and venue; something appropriate to her education, background, trustworthiness, and eminently agreeable personality, as evinced by her behavior during her years of confinement.

She lay in her bunk and mentally reviewed the letter of the law as it pertained to work release instigated by the New York prison system. She had poured over it until it was branded into her memory:

"The commissioner may extend the limits of the place of confinement of a prisoner as to whom there is reasonable cause to believe he will honor his trust by authorizing him to participate in a work release program in the community on a voluntary basis while continuing as a prisoner of the institution or facility in which he is confined. An extension of limits shall be under such prescribed conditions and for such reasonable hours or reasonable periods of time as the commissioner deems necessary. Such extension of limits may be withdrawn at any time."

The part that was of particular interest to Bescardi was the phrase "reasonable periods of time." It meant that, with the right amount of luck and manipulation, she could be released for days, perhaps weeks on her own recognizance.

She smiled and gazed at the pocked, cement ceiling above her.

_With enough time and opportunity, what __**couldn't**__ a woman of determination, a woman of __**science**__, accomplish?_


	20. Reunions

"This way, child."

The venerable old man escorted Hotch into his home and deposited him on the worn, comfortable couch, whose sagging presence filled most of his living room.

"May I get you anything?" He ducked his hoary head, chiding himself. "No, you tend to deny yourself when offered what others would have no qualms to take. So I'm not asking. I'm bringing you a snack and some…tea, I think."

"Thank you. That would be nice."

Hotch was smiling. It was easy to do around this man. He could sense the doctor's genuine affection. He realized he felt safe here. For some reason it was alright to let down his guard, to let this man look after him. He wondered if it was a simple matter of conditioning. Both times he'd been in this man's presence, he'd been in no condition to refuse care. The doctor had answered his need. He didn't believe he was in need at the present, but it still felt good to be cared for. As much as he loved the people in his life, it was nice to be away from anyone who looked to him for leadership and answers, decisions and directions.

"That's why we have vacations, young Aaron." Hotch pulled himself back from his private musings, a wry smile the only indication that he'd forgotten how accessible his thoughts were to this man.

"I know. But this is…different. This is…safer. I feel like I can breathe better here."

The doctor placed a plate of crackers topped with various cheeses and sliced sausages on the small occasional table at Hotch's elbow. He followed it with a large mug of steaming tea.

"I know you don't normally use lemon or sugar, but if you'd like some, just say." The old man settled himself in a chair facing his guest. "And speaking of breathing, I notice you're not able to do so as fully as one might wish."

Hotch nodded and helped himself to one of the homey, simple hors d'oeuvres. "I got hurt. But it's not bad." He shot a quick glance at the doctor. "It's what happened with Ana that brought us here. I'm fine."

The doctor was silent, watching this man who touched his heart as it hadn't been for such a long, long time. _Go carefully. Don't deprive him of his illusion of safety. What is happening to him is new ground for me, too._ The thought of something unknown, of a challenge for his abilities and the possibility of attaining hitherto undiscovered knowledge acted like a tonic on him. This visitor brought something that almost made the doctor feel young again. But whatever the phenomenon was, his first concern was to help Aaron, if help was to be had.

_I couldn't save my brother. I __**refuse**__ to lose the spirit residing within this man. If that happened, I would follow him. I would let myself cease as well._

xxxxxxxxx

Millie's B&B was bathed in light.

The proprietress had turned on every source of illumination throughout her home. It was a visual announcement to the neighbors that she was once again the focal point of action and excitement in this staid, quiet village.

Her permanent boarder, Julio Ruiz, had ensconced himself in the parlor, thoroughly enjoying the indoctrination of the female FBI agent. She'd been peripheral to the incident in Miami when he'd first met Reid and all his ghosts. But he'd heard her called 'Prentiss.' When Millie had finished parading her past the foyer display devoted primarily to Rossi, but with touches of Reid and Hotchner, she brought her to Julio to perform an official introduction. Millie liked everyone under her roof to be acquainted. It made everything so much cozier, especially around the dining table.

The agent's jaw had dropped at the framed dustcover photos and business cards. It still hadn't quite closed, and her eyes were having a hard time pulling themselves away from the front hall. The FBI card in a heart-shaped frame with the printed words 'Call me, _please_' had the power to stun, especially when Prentiss recognized it to be in Hotch's handwriting. But Millie was a juggernaut when it came to propriety, and introductions needed to take place as part of her self-assigned duties.

Julio rose from his seat as the women approached. Freshly ironed, floral apron tied over an equally flowered frock, Millie looked like a rather large nosegay propelling itself toward him. She stopped before the Palero and pulled her new FBI trophy-agent forward, causing the woman's eyes to finally break free of the entryway art.

"Who-LEE-oh, I'd like you to meet a new guest. You remember the others, but I don't know if you've ever crossed paths with this young lady." Millie took a breath, a pause, to indicate the official part of her dialogue was at hand.

"Miss Emily Princess, I'd like you to meet Mr. Who-LEE-oh Roolies. Mr. Roolies…this is Miss Princess."

Prentiss' jaw seemed permanently fixed at half-mast. But it snapped closed when she delivered her next request; one particularly meant for Millie.

"Please, just call me 'Emily.' Seriously. _Please_."

Millie's indulgent smile showed how gratified she was. _Really, all these agents are so personable, so pleasant about being on a first name basis right from the start._

xxxxxxxxxx

When Millie expressed concern over, once again, having more guests than rooms, Reid and Ana joined hands and stepped forward. After careful inspection of their wedding rings, and a few cagey questions about their ceremony, Millie was satisfied that their sharing accommodations wouldn't besmirch her establishment's reputation.

With the sleeping arrangements sorted out, she reminded the newcomers that, since they were special…far more than mere guests…she was looking forward to cooking for them. She cast fond eyes on Rossi and assured him that when he was in town, B&B stood for 'Bed and Board,' not just 'Bed and Breakfast.'

"Thank you, Miss Millie." Rossi gave her a small, courtly bow that he knew would appeal to the romantic in her. But, when their hostess invited him to join her in the kitchen, he had to tender his regrets.

"As much as I'm looking forward to spending some time with you, I do need to see how the doctor and Mr. Hotchner are getting on." When he saw the disappointed look on her face, Rossi offered what he hoped was a suitable compromise. "But, after I check on them, if it's not too late, maybe we could sit down…just the two of us…and catch up?"

Millie's round face lit as brightly as the windows of her house. Placing a hand over her bosom to still her heart's joyful leaping, she told Mr. Rosie…_Dave!_...which house was the doctor's.

Leaving the others to settle in and enjoy whatever their hostess provided for dinner, Rossi stepped out into the night. He was anxious to see if Hotch was alright, but he was a little surprised to find he was also looking forward to some quiet time later, talking over tea, with Millie. It would be a gentle way to end the day.

xxxxxxxxxx

When Hotch had eaten a little and finished his tea, the doctor set his own mug down and leaned forward.

"I'd like to examine you, son. That means I need to put my hand over your heart. It'd help if you slipped out of that shirt."

The sweatshirt that Morgan had chosen for Hotch was a little more difficult to take off than it had been to put on that morning. The doctor was watching, noting the less than fluid muscular movement. When the shirt was far enough up to reveal the beginning of the bruising, he went to Hotch's side.

"Let's do this a different way. Let me help you."

Again, Hotch marveled at how easy it was for him to accept aid from this man. Any other time, he would have insisted on struggling through whatever difficulties confronted him on his own. Now, he let the doctor pull his shirt off with the slow ease of someone accustomed to helping the injured.

The doctor dropped the garment on the couch beside his patient and leaned closer to inspect his bruises. When he settled his right hand against Hotch's chest, the agent braced himself, expecting to feel some soreness from the pressure. He was mildly surprised when all he felt was warmth. The kind, old eyes closed and Hotch knew he was being evaluated in whatever psychic way passed for medicine with this strange, elderly physician.

Under his palm, the doctor felt the steady, yet increasing, heartbeat. He followed the paths of blood and oxygen, checking for damage in the body first. He wanted to explore mental and emotional paths as well, but they would be more accurately assessed once the body's injuries were healed. After a few minutes, he opened his eyes to find those of his patient frankly studying him.

The doctor smiled.

"I'd like to heal you, but it would be best if you were in bed when I do it." Hotch's brows rose, questioning. The doctor sat down beside him. "Do you recall the last time you were here? When all was said and done, when you'd come through so much, you just had to go and pull a muscle. I remedied it, but you felt some pain during the process. That was because I didn't put you to sleep first. It hadn't been necessary. It was more of an aggravation than an injury. This is more extensive."

Hotch nodded. He _did_ remember a sharp twinge before everything had felt right again.

"So…." The doctor stood, motioning his guest to do the same. "…I'll show you where you'll be sleeping and we'll get this done." He picked up the piece of luggage that had come with them. Placing a supportive hand beneath Hotch's elbow, he began the slow, accommodating walk to the bedroom he'd readied days ago…knowing it would be used, but not sure of the exact circumstances that would be involved.

_And you __**still**__ don't know those, do you, old man?_ The doctor chuckled to himself.

This group of people tended to bring him surprises, but there was one surety attached to the current company and situation. The father was on his way to check on the son.

_As it always has been. As it always will be. As it always __**should**__ be._


	21. Biology and Beyond

Rossi found the doctor's home without trouble.

It was as Millie had described it: the only house on the street sporting window boxes filled with brilliant red geraniums. Nighttime dulled the vibrancy of the flowers, but the shape of their foliage was unmistakable.

Rossi liked the idea of that strange, old healer having a horticultural hobby. Raising flowers was such a civilized, peaceful way to enjoy one's spare time. He raised his hand to knock on the front door, but before knuckles met wood, the deep, strong voice of the house's owner called to him.

"Come in. It's not locked. No one locks doors around here. There's never a need."

Rossi smiled to himself. _I suppose there's no need for law enforcement around here either. Not with a cadre of people who can pick the crime right out of the guilty party's mind._

Still, Rossi entered with caution, partially due to the conditioning of his profession that required stealthy care whenever intruding on another's territory, and partly because knowing the old man had been aware of his presence before he'd given any sign of it, made him wary. _Who am I kidding? It creeped me out! This whole place creeps me out. And I'm entering the home of the guy who's the focal point of all the creepiness! _For a few heartbeats, he empathized with Morgan's aversion to ESP.

A deep, resonant chuckle reminded him again that thoughts were public property here.

"Forgive me. I'm splitting my focus and forgetting my manners. We're in the back of the house. Down the hall. Third door on the right."

Rossi followed directions and found himself in a large bedroom that drew its charm from the surrounding countryside. Dried flowers were framed, bringing subtle, whimsical shape and color to the walls. The drapes and bedding had a decidedly masculine feel and looked as though they might have been woven on a loom by the same hands that had fashioned the few pieces of furniture. Rough-hewn wood formed the bed frame, two large chairs, a dresser, and a desk. Despite the rustic material, the pieces glowed with the warmth imparted by years of use. A faint scent of beeswax told Rossi that the wood had endured many hours of hand-polishing.

The doctor belonged in this place. Rossi wondered how long he'd lived here, and if his hands were the ones that hewed the structure and its contents from the living forest around them.

"Welcome to my home. Your son is readying himself for a night's rest…and healing. You may watch, if you wish. I think it will comfort him to know you're here."

Rossi had been giving the room a closer inspection, but something the doctor said made him turn. "If you don't mind, please don't call him my son in front of him. _Would_ you mind?"

The old man's ever-present half-smile told Rossi he was, if anything, amused rather than offended.

"You haven't told him?"

Rossi shook his head. "I'm not sure I believe it myself."

"Ah, yes. Your religion refutes such things." The chuckle almost broke through again. "No matter. Once I have finished with your _friend_, you and I have other things to discuss."

"I do have some questions."

"And, hopefully, after working on Aaron, I will have more than a few answers."

The door creaked a little wider and Hotch came around the corner, using walls and furniture to help his stiff body and injured leg navigate the path from bathroom to bedroom.

"Dave! You're here."

Rossi surveyed the slender frame, barefoot and wearing the threadbare, dark green robe Hotch favored and carried with him whenever they traveled. "I thought I'd check up on you. That okay?"

"Yeah, sure." Hotch did seem to relax a little more. "I'm glad you're here." He glanced at the doctor. "Now what?"

"Lie down." He nodded at the bed, the covers of which had been turned back in readiness for an occupant.

Rossi stepped forward. Slipping an arm around Hotch's waist, he took as much weight off the wounded leg as he could. When they reached their destination, Hotch shed the robe. Grunting a little from the pain, he lowered himself to the mattress. He would have sighed once down, but expanding his chest hurt too much. Clad only in boxers and the bandage on his leg, he looked up at the two men standing over him.

"Okay. I'm ready, Doc. I guess."

The doctor heard the slight anxiety in his patient's voice, partially due to a natural aversion to having others loom over him, and in part from concern over whatever was going to happen to him in the name of 'healing.' The old physician sat on the edge of the bed and looked into the shadowed eyes that were doing their best to mask any discomfort, any unease. Despite a lifespan which had filled his mind with so very, very much, and the lapse of time since he'd last seen Hotch, the doctor's memory was precise in its recall of what had soothed this particular man twice before. He laid a gentle hand along one side of the gaunt face and ran his worn thumb over the prominent cheekbone in slow, repetitious arcs. When he spoke, his voice echoed the warm, soothing comfort of his touch.

"There won't be any pain, Aaron. I'm going to put you to sleep and heal your injuries. After that…" The ancient eyes crinkled with self-deprecating humor. "…and if I don't need to take a break; I'm an old man, after all…I'll see if I can figure out what all this worry and fuss emanating from your friends about a link to the empath's fetus is all about." He moved his hand to Hotch's brow and brushed the hair back from it, keeping eye contact. When he let his hand rest, palm flat against his patient's forehead, Hotch's eyes widened, then drifted shut. His muscles released all tension, allowing his body to relax into the bedding.

Rossi moved closer, frowning as he watched a process, the biological mechanics of which, he didn't understand.

The doctor kept still, hand pressed against the pale skin. "You don't understand, because this isn't exclusively biological. The discipline I practice encompasses the mind, the emotions, and the soul. It pulls from the past and the future. Biology is only part of it." His half-smile became a little mischievous. "The science you reference is only the beginning; a stepping off place for a larger understanding. Just as your adherence to the framework provided by your religion prevents you from seeing additional aspects of your own spiritual existence." He peered at Rossi over the tops of his half-moon glasses. "No one discipline encompasses enough to reveal the foundation of reality. Not even mine, despite its expanded boundaries."

Rossi smiled. He was willing to entertain alternate viewpoints, but not ready to abandon those which had served him well during the course of a lifetime. "Well, maybe that's something we'll explore when we talk. In the meantime, would it distract you, if you described what you're doing?"

"I've always found visual aids, when available, are best when communicating with those who prefer to avoid doing so telepathically." The doctor nodded toward Hotch's leg. "If you'll remove his bandage, you'll be better able to see what I do."

Rossi reached over and with the lightest touch he could manage, peeled the tape back from the gauze pad covering the bullet wound. He had a little difficulty when he realized the fabric was stuck to the gash by dried fluids, but he managed to pry it off without doing any damage. When he had discarded the used dressing, he pulled up a chair and watched the doctor work. The venerable, old healer kept one hand on Hotch's forehead, the other slid into place on his chest; a gentle touch over his heart.

Rossi couldn't help thinking of the first time Reid had demonstrated his abilities in Hotch's office. Somehow, instinctively, the young agent had known that he needed to place his hand against bare skin, just over the heart of the person he wished to 'read' to enable the strongest link. _I wonder if that's where this whole mess began. If that opened the door to Aaron's mind being repeatedly assaulted?_

"I don't doubt that that had something to do with it."

Rossi blinked and shifted in his chair. He didn't think he'd ever become accustomed to having someone respond to his unspoken thoughts. He opted to pursue a different topic.

"So you're healing him now?"

"Not yet. I'm relearning his body and mind first. Its balances and composition. And, yes, this, too, goes beyond the biological. I'm reading the incident in his memory. The emotions and thoughts that attended his being hurt. All of that comes into play in my type of healing."

Several minutes passed in silence. When Rossi was about to ask how much longer he'd be studying Hotch, the doctor spoke. The voice was deep and distant and thrummed with power.

"We begin."

_Heal, Aaron. Rest, recover, return. Heal, child._


	22. Worlds Apart

Rossi was simultaneously fascinated and horrified to varying degrees. The two reactions see-sawed, alternately attracting and repulsing.

_Like a crime scene, it exerts a magnetic effect. Something you hate, but you have to study it, figure it out. _He grimaced. _Oh, who are you kidding, Rossi? It's the car accident you rubberneck as you pass by. Just…weirder, is all._

He swallowed a trace of nausea as he watched the doctor work.

The elderly man sat on the edge of the bed, one hand resting across Hotch's forehead, the other pressed against his chest. Rossi wasn't sure what he'd expected to happen. Now, he realized he'd thought it would be like a Hollywood special effect; the bruises would gradually disappear in a classic, cinematic fade-out. But it wasn't like that at all.

It was terrible.

Once the doctor had announced he was starting, there had been nothing of note for several minutes. Then Rossi noticed Hotch's shallow respiration increase. A faint sheen of perspiration glimmered across his skin. Rossi squinted.

No, not perspiration. The skin of his torso was _changing_. What he'd mistaken for normal sweat was layers of tissue almost…effervescing. Rossi tried to liken it to something he could grasp. The best he could come up with was a coating of flesh-colored wax applied over Hotch's body that fizzed in miniscule bubbles at some points and went diamond-clear at others. Beneath the clear patches he could see crystalline strands in hues that reminded him of blood or raw, exposed muscle tissue. Like fibrous threads, they moved; recombining, building and meshing on top of each other, shooting across spaces to fuse at each other's ends.

Mesmerized by the constant movement, Rossi didn't notice at first when the edges of the bruises began to recede. They didn't fade. They moved inward with a rolling motion toward what he suspected was the point where the bullet had struck Hotch hardest, embedding itself in Kevlar and sending shock waves of damage into the body beneath.

Hotch's breathing became harsher and more labored. Rossi heard the doctor murmuring soft words, but couldn't make them out. Afterwards, he would realize that the deeper movements of his friend's chest were proof of the effectiveness of the doctor's methods. But as it was happening before his eyes, it was more abhorrent than reassuring.

When the flesh on the thigh wound began to emulate what the bruises had done, but on a deeper, larger, more visible level, Rossi felt his gorge rise. He had to turn away for a moment. _This is Aaron. This is his leg. Make it stop._

"You may leave, if you wish." The doctor's voice was soft, but certain. No trace of exertion betrayed the calm understanding in his words. He rendered no judgment.

"He's my friend. I'll never leave him."

Rossi closed his eyes for a brief moment and whispered a reminder to himself from his own past; something from which he'd drawn strength when frightened. "Never leave a man behind. _Never_ leave a man behind." He took a few deep breaths and turned back just in time to see shreds of flesh merge over the filled-in thigh wound, closing it with a quiet, wet, sucking susurration. The sound almost made him feel ill again.

Then everything was still and silent. Nothing moved except the slow, even, deep rhythms of Hotch's chest and ribs. Normal, peaceful breaths of a man asleep. The doctor waited a few minutes, then sat straighter and gave his own heavy sigh. He moved his hand away from where it had rested over his patient's heart. Rossi saw a whitish handprint marked the area. He frowned, remembering Morgan claiming to have seen something similar the first time they'd brought Hotch off the mountain and into this settlement.

"Don't be concerned. I'll remove the brand when I've finished with him." The doctor's speech was hushed. He ran his hand over his patient's body, testing the integrity of his work. At last he rose and motioned for Rossi to follow him out. Leaving the bedroom door ajar, he escorted his visitor back to the living room where Hotch had enjoyed tea earlier.

"Please, have a seat." Rossi dropped onto the couch, eyes slightly unfocused as he reviewed what he'd just seen. The doctor's smile was sympathetic. He opened a cabinet adorned with elegantly carved woodland scenes and extracted a bottle of amber liquid.

"I feel the need of something bracing before I perform the next phase of examination on your Aaron. Will you join me?" He brandished the bottle toward a glassy-eyed Rossi.

"Wha…?" The agent pulled himself back from his inner vision. "Yes, thank you. That'd be…" He faded out again, drawn into his private musings. When the doctor had poured two tumblers of the liquid, added some ice cubes, and pressed one of the drinks into his hand, Rossi rallied.

"Thank you, doctor." He sipped and raised his eyebrows, a smile of surprised delight replacing the look of bemusement. "This has to be the smoothest scotch I've ever had. May I ask where you got it?"

"Scotland, of course." The reply was accompanied by a grin that invited deeper inquiry.

Rossi took another appreciative taste. "I was under the impression that you never left _this_ place."

"I haven't. Not since I established it." The old man sipped from his own glass before elaborating. "I didn't say in which century I procured it." The ancient eyes twinkled with humor as they watched the import of the words sink into Rossi's awareness.

He was already overburdened with what he'd seen. And, although he felt he'd done a creditable job appearing to accept this underside of…this alternate level to…the reality that was generally accepted everyplace except, apparently, this tiny town, he couldn't maintain his equanimity any longer. Looking down at his hands. He tilted his glass, swirling its golden contents and letting the immeasurable sadness he was feeling at having to abandon his cherished beliefs in how the world worked, slip into his voice.

"What I just saw happen…in there…is not possible."

The doctor felt this man's sorrow and knew it for a different type of wound, but one which also required healing. Trickier than those of the physical variety, the best he could do was offer small glimpses of his own wisdom, as imperfect as it was.

_Maybe he'll be able to incorporate elements of my world view into his own just enough to be at ease with our differences co-existing. He's intelligent, but he needs a solid reference point from which to operate. Especially doing the work he does. It would be cruel to rip it from him. But it would be kind to offer alternatives without judgment or bias._

"Why is what you saw impossible?" The doctor watched his guest search himself for an answer. "Because you've never seen the like before?"

Rossi gave his head a slow shake. "No." He raised his chin and engaged his host's eyes directly. "Because I don't _want_ it to be possible."

"Even when it helps your son? Has on occasion _saved_ your son?"

Rossi sipped the excellent scotch, hoping it would somehow lubricate his brain and make it easier to find words to express the inexplicable. It didn't, so he couldn't. Not on the spur of the moment. He had to settle for employing the tactic he used in the field when he couldn't or wouldn't embrace something without more time to examine both it and himself. Compartmentalizing allowed him to survive mentally and emotionally when he encountered the unacceptable; when he needed to remain functional in the face of man's capacity for inhuman acts.

"Please understand. My gratitude is limitless. My faith, apparently, is not." Rossi tried to wash the lump forming in his throat down with another sip. "I still need to know how things work to accept them. The why and the how of people, processes, situations…these are what I've devoted a lifetime to understanding. These are how I do my work on a daily basis. This is…_was_…how I live."

The doctor nodded. "And you think that I, in my own way, am as inhuman as those whose crimes require you hunt them; whose crimes defy understanding, just as it is impossible to grasp the mechanics of how my work is performed."

Rossi was trying to be as honest as he could. He knew his thoughts were laid bare to this man. His struggle was to be honest with himself. "I think I will never again know how to define 'human.' I need time to find a way to explain you and this place in terms I can accept. That's my shortcoming, not yours. It's part of me and I'm not sure I want to give it up. It's safe. It's worked for me up to now." He bowed his head, contemplating the glass of glowing liquor, and ended as he'd begun. "Please understand."

The deep voice was soft with regretful acceptance. "I do understand. I don't wish to change you, child, but I don't want you to close yourself off from the stranger things of this world. Particularly since they seem to be impinging on you and your friends with unforeseen frequency."

Rossi's lips quirked in a wry, mirthless way. He was grateful for what he saw as a change of subject. "That leads into one of the questions I was hoping you'd be able to answer." He looked up and saw an invitation to continue in the old healer's eyes.

"Why Aaron? Why is it always Aaron?"

The doctor set his now empty glass down and leaned back with a sigh. "I have my suspicions, but I'd prefer to finish examining him before I answer."

"What does that entail, exactly?" Rossi felt a faint shiver of apprehension. Despite the doctor's far-reaching description of his methods and discipline, he'd hoped Hotch could be considered healed once the wounds and bruises had been repaired.

"Next, I need to inspect every element of your Aaron that is _not _physical." The elderly face wrinkled with compassionate mirth. "There will be nothing visible for you to see. I think you've had enough for one night. A visit with Millie would do you good right about now." The doctor saw Rossi's thoughts acknowledge that a simple conversation with the B&B's proprietress would indeed be an effective antidote to the strange proceedings he'd just witnessed. But the desire to erase the disturbing vision of Hotch's moving flesh and replace it with something else, warred with a desire to stay by his side.

_As any father would feel…_

"Go. Compartmentalize to your heart's content. And be assured: as inhuman as I may have become, I won't hurt Aaron. Not for the world." There was no sting in the words, no implied criticism.

Rossi set his glass down and returned to Hotch's room. After one last look at the now unblemished body, he brushed a kiss across his friend's forehead.

Then he took the doctor's advice and went to the B&B for a settling dose of Millie.

xxxxxxxxxx

After Rossi left, the old man poured himself another finger of scotch before returning to his patient. As he sipped, he eavesdropped on the thoughts, the confusion, wafting from the mind of the senior FBI agent as he walked down the darkened streets of a town putting itself to bed for the night.

Looking into the depths of his drink, the old healer considered his position.

_I take a risk with every word I speak to men like him._

_He says his faith is short-sighted; that he must understand the inner workings to accept the outer evidence. Yet at his core he is a man of __**great**__ faith. If he weren't, there would be less conflict engendered by coming into contact with my world, with what I have built here._

_It is the men of great faith who are most dangerous when their beliefs are challenged. They are the ones who, when pushed too far, cry 'witch,' out of fear…out of a desire to deny what they cannot explain._

_But he is also a brave man. His faith supports him. He does not hide behind it. It is a strength rather than an excuse. I believe I can trust him, but every time he brings someone new here, the risk to my people increases._

He envisioned the stranger that had accompanied this odd, little group this time. The dark-haired woman with the openly skeptical eyes and the brash, aggressive outlook. He would trust her by association, because she was accepted within the group Aaron had created.

_And Aaron would refuse to harbor anyone untrustworthy._

He took a last sip and set the empty glass down. It was time to delve deeply into his patient's psyche and unravel the strangeness setting up house within him.

_Yet again. How many times can this man's spirit endure being invaded?_


	23. Patient Progress

When Rossi walked in the front door of Millie's B&B, he was met by Prentiss' eyes, signaling him from where she was trapped in the parlor.

Imploring him to interrupt.

Pleading for rescue.

As he approached, he could hear their hostess holding forth about the path her life might have taken had she been granted the opportunities with which Miss Princess had been so blessed.

"I always _have_ seen myself as possessing the special talents that allow you to excel at your profession, my dear. _So_ many people tell me I have a way of 'getting right inside' their heads…"

Rossi paused at the parlor entrance where the doorframe blocked him from Millie's view, but he could enjoy the increasingly importunate expression in Prentiss' eyes. The proprietress was preening before her audience. Rossi didn't think she got the chance to do so often. He was quite willing to let her enjoy a few more minutes at Prentiss' expense.

"…and then once I'm _in_ their heads, they say it's hard to get me out! Can you imagine the insight I must possess by nature? Just think what I could have done with the proper training, the suitable education." She emitted a sigh redolent with regret for her lost career as an enforcer of law and justice. Closing her eyes and raising her nose toward the ceiling, she quoted a favored line that she felt did an admirable job expressing her own situation. "Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these, 'It might have been.'"

But it was her next statement that finally broke Emily.

"And I've always had a special place in my heart for stories about Mata Hari, you know…"

Prentiss' brain was reduced to working in fits and starts as she tried to follow the connection this woman was intimating between an FBI profiler and the historical figure described as a lethal seductress, a courtesan, and an accused spy during World War I. Although Prentiss had done undercover work and had suffered her share of injuries and danger in the process, she didn't think she could ever be likened to an exotic dancer who had shocked society by posing for portraits wearing only jewelry and a bra in the early 1900s. Nor did she believe her duties would ever include seducing numerous lovers as a method of gaining information. And nor did she think she'd ever be likely to meet her end by firing squad.

It was too much.

"I…uh…we…profilers…uh…." She cast another desperate look at Rossi, loitering around the corner just out of Millie's sight. "…we don't…uh…"

Rossi cleared his throat and stepped into the room. He couldn't repress his smile. Apparently the other guests had turned in for the night, leaving Prentiss alone, the sole focus of Millie's hospitality. And he could tell that his advice about escape tactics had been taken, but, sadly, had failed to produce the desired results.

Millie nestled on her loveseat, discussing her romanticized take on career options. In one hand she held a delicate, porcelain teacup. In the other, no less than three of Prentiss' cards.

With Rossi officially on hand and the possibility of rescue solidifying from vain hope to accessible goal, the synapses in Prentiss' brain managed to resume firing.

"Rossi! You're back! How's Hotch?" She was on her feet, edging toward the doorway, putting the older agent between herself and the unassuming, sociable danger that was Millie.

"I think he'll be fine. The doctor still has some work to do on him." Recalling the unsettling sight of what had _already_ been done to Hotch, Rossi decided to cut Prentiss free and let Millie's naïve chatter dull the vision of watching his friend's flesh knit itself together.

"Tomorrow I guess it'll be Ana's turn to be examined. Might be a long day. Maybe you should get some rest."

The smile of genuine relief Prentiss beamed forth made Millie think her very first real talk with a real female FBI agent had gone very well indeed. Clearly, Miss Princess…Emily...had enjoyed herself.

But now it was time for tea with …_Dave!_...And all was just as it should be as the day drew to a close in Millie's gentle world.

xxxxxxxxxxx

When the assignment came through, Carol Bescardi couldn't believe her luck, nor could she contain her disgust.

In deference to her scientific background, a place had been found for her in a lab facility on the outskirts of Lake Placid.

The proximity appealed to her. She never had regained her memory of the span of time at the monastery between Ana downing her with a mean right hook, and waking up lying on one of the refectory tables. A suspicious cup of coffee had been close at hand. She _did_ recall her special brew, laced with a designer drug that subjected those who ingested it to extreme vertigo, with a side effect of memory impairment. She assumed she'd been dosed with her own creation. And she _did_ remember the devastation, the total destruction of her equipment and her data…her precious test results that could have rocketed her to the pinnacle of prominence in her chosen field.

_Or in any other field for that matter! __**Mine**__ would have been the discovery that defined humanity's quest for knowledge and understanding. __**My**__ work would have eclipsed all other endeavors in the entire scientific community! __**Mine**__ would have been the yardstick by which to judge all other achievements!_

Her attorney had apprised her of the facts surrounding her alleged offenses. But what had been gleaned from the crime scene investigation and the sworn statements of the supposed victims didn't account for the condition of her facilities, the loss of her data, nor for how she'd wound up drugged and alone. Vandalism had been the official scapegoat. But even impaired, Bescardi knew random vandals wouldn't have simply happened upon such a remote, almost inaccessible, location.

She very much wanted to revisit the monastery and see if she could piece together what had happened. She _knew_ who to blame, but she wanted to fill the gap in her memory anyway. Gaps and spaces and blanks were anathema to her strictly ordered, scientifically regimented brain.

So the location of her work release, in a town convenient to the Adirondacks, was an unexpectedly fortuitous stroke of luck. Still, it would take a long time to ingratiate herself to her supervisors, both those at the lab designating her duties, and those prison officials overseeing her progress. Only then would she be allowed the kind of autonomy that would let her engineer enough free time to conduct her own investigation.

What thoroughly disgusted her about the assignment was the capacity in which she would serve her employer.

Carol Bescardi, former almost-illuminati of the scientific world, would be cleaning beakers, emptying trash, and taking inventory of supplies. Such duties were beneath her. Always had been. Always would be.

But it was a means to an end.

In the meantime, she continued her cyber-surveillance of the names Reid, Ashcroft and Rossi. She still didn't bother to dredge up the name of the stupid watchdog agent who had imbibed her coffee and gotten himself lost in the great northern woods.

_That coffee was a work of pharmaceutical art in and of itself! Such a waste to pour it into a vessel like that ungifted drone. Whatever his name was._

The one thing of which Bescardi was absolutely sure, was that she would be a model work release subject. Just as she'd been a model prisoner.

And when the time came for her re-emergence into the world, she'd recognize the opportunity, seize it with both hands, and crush anyone who opposed her…or maybe anyone who just looked crushable; after all, she deserved to have some fun, too…beneath her heel.


	24. Heredity

Tireless, despite the late hour, the doctor returned to his patient.

He sat by his side and watched him sleep, wondering why this particular man was so vulnerable to a psychic touch.

_Well, young Aaron, there's only one way I'll find out._

Once again, he rested the palm of his hand across the pale brow. He closed his eyes and entered the outer edges, the fringes of the slumbering psyche. He would start by traveling around the boundaries where the most immediate, most recent information could be gleaned readily. Then, as the night progressed, he would travel deeper, moving in a way that he'd learned over the course of centuries; a way that stepped softly, without leaving footprints; a way that slipped past defenses without setting off alarms.

He didn't know what he was seeking, but he was confident he'd recognize it whenever he discovered it in some dark, protected corner where even Aaron would never think to look.

xxxxxxxxx

Reid and Ana snuggled down in the big, featherbed Millie had decided was the most suitable accommodation for newlyweds. Cuddled together, surrounded by the unaccustomed quiet of the country, and secure in the old doctor's reassurance that there was no immediate danger lurking around some unknown gestational corner, waiting to pounce on their unborn baby, the couple felt more at ease than they had for quite some time.

_I'm glad we came here, Spencer._

_We really didn't have a choice, but, yeah. I'm glad, too._ He played with a strand of her hair, pressing its silkiness against his cheek, inhaling its cherry-almond fragrance.

_Something's on your mind and you're not quite sure you want me in on it._

Reid and Ana knew that privacy was necessary even in the closest of human relationships. They'd practiced blocking all external interference as a way to spare themselves from the constant cacophony of mental and emotional noise surrounding them, but they'd learned a better way to grant each other privacy.

Over time, husband and wife had developed more control over the speed and force with which they accessed each other's thoughts. When they'd first met, their communication had been the equivalent of shouting in public. It wasn't until they'd experienced the finesse and selectivity in the elderly doctor's telepathy that they realized how clumsy, how brutal, their own methods were.

So, instead of throwing up shields against each other, they initiated contact between themselves with a touch of consideration. Instead of employing defensive tactics, they chose to use respect and honesty.

When Ana reached out and encountered the edge of a thought that had a wish for privacy woven into it, she didn't push. She asked.

_If you want to keep something to yourself, you know that's fine, Spencer. But please understand that considering where we are and why we're here, it makes me nervous to think something's being kept from me, especially if it concerns our child. So, I won't nag, but can you at least reassure me it's nothing to do with this baby?_

Reid nuzzled his nose into her hair and let her feel his smile, warm against the strands.

_And here I was keeping something private because I didn't want you to be concerned about anything other than yourself…__**both**__ of you._

_You're welcome to tell me. Okay if you don't, but…_She gave a forlorn sigh_…if you __**want**__ to make me wonder…in my present condition…all by myself…all night…alone…without succor…comfortless…_

_Okay! Okay! You win!_ Reid's smile had morphed into a chuckle, still pressed into his wife's hair.

Then Ana felt the mirth recede, replaced by sadness and uncertainty.

_Spencer?_

_I was wondering about my mother._

His reply had a touch of shame clinging to it. As fiercely defensive as Reid had been all his life, as much as he'd had to endure from childhood bullies who taunted him for coming from a 'broken' home and for having a mother who suffered from mental illness, in his heart of hearts he'd always harbored a secret shame. It was born of the cruel words that wounded his child's soul even as he refuted them; the words that told him his situation was _his_ fault; words that made him think the abnormalities of his home life were what he deserved. Words that made him feel a lesser being.

_Diana? What about her?_

_So much has been going on with us, that I haven't really thought about her much. But now…_ He raised himself on one elbow, the better to see Ana's expression. _Time after time, when I was growing up, she'd know stuff without being told. She'd dismiss me when I questioned her by saying things like 'a mother knows.' And even now, all grown up and working for the FBI, she's said things to me that make me think she knows how a case ended. She's congratulated me on successful outcomes when there's no way she could know. So I'm wondering…_

Ana's eyes were unreadable in the darkness, but he felt sympathetic warmth pulsing from her. _So you're wondering if your gift is hereditary after all._

_Yes. And with a child on the way, heredity is suddenly so very, very important. What if I pass along the curse of schizophrenia instead of the gift of telepathy? What if my mother's illness is because she didn't get the guidance with her gift that I got with mine? What if there's something that can be done __**now**__ to help her?_

His wife's sigh was long and drawn-out. _I think we have more questions for the doctor than we thought. _

xxxxxxxx

It was almost dawn when the doctor found it.

He wouldn't have noticed it if he hadn't used his aural vision. Like Reid, he could see fields of energy surrounding certain people, places and things. Unlike Reid, he had the skill to manipulate the ability; to turn it on or off at will. It was one of the perks of having had so many years to hone his talents.

He also trusted his own intuition. So when something prompted him to look for auras in the hidden places he was inspecting within Hotch, he did so.

It was small and lilac-gold, and completely innocent of its actions. It glowed out of the shelter it had found, not trying to hide and unaware that it was being sought. All it knew was that it liked where it crouched because it felt it to be a good and kindly place that surrounded it. It wasn't advanced enough to communicate why or to understand that it didn't belong there. All it knew was that Aaron was a nice place to be. And when Aaron got hurt, it screamed in silent agony and fear. And fled to its other home.

Ana.

The doctor gazed at it, waiting for it to notice him, to realize it was being joined by another presence. When it became aware of him, he sensed no fear, no desire to hide.

_So you don't know what you're doing is wrong, do you, little one?_

It didn't understand, so it didn't respond. All it did was nestle closer into Aaron and give a psychic sigh of contentment. The doctor continued to watch until he was sure the small blaze of energy was in what passed for a sleep state. He didn't sense it had the capacity for dreams, but when he subjected it to the most delicate touch his mind could muster, he found it had the ability to absorb, rather than understand, and to transfer impressions, rather than communicate them in a more sophisticated manner. What it drew in, it passed on in a raw form. It had no perception through which to filter what it felt.

The old man mentally shook his head, then scratched it. _This is a first. Once again you people have managed to surprise me._ He would have chuckled, but he needed to explore Hotch once more. This time he felt he would know better what to look for. He needed to ascertain if this small pulse of energy had left a trail. He wanted to know more about how it entered, what it did while here, and why it came to Aaron's psyche in the first place.

He didn't think it would be difficult to move the thing back to Ana where it belonged, but knowing how and why it came to be here at all could go a long way toward knowing how to keep it from returning.

_I have a feeling Julio will need to fashion another protective charm. One with different properties, different attributes, but I'll leave that to him. First things first. I need to get to know this newness in order to handle it without damaging either it or its present host…poor Aaron._

As dawn began to brighten the sky, the elderly healer retraced all the paths he'd already inspected, but this time with a psychic eye peeled for signs of lilac-gold. Then, on second thought, he tuned his vision for any aura, any shade, that wasn't native to his patient. He had to admit that with all his years of experience, there was only one thing he could say for sure about the presence he'd found.

It loved Aaron. With all its soul, it loved him.

_And love misdirected can be a force of deadly power; insidious, undeniable, and a primal law unto itself._


	25. Dawn of a Long Day

Morning found the dining table at Millie's B&B filled to capacity.

Once Rossi had attested to the fact that he'd seen Hotch healed of his hurts, the atmosphere was almost celebratory. Julio, Ana and Reid joined in the conversation at times, but at others the three ESP-ers fell into the silent communication that came naturally to them. Prentiss, Rossi and Millie kept up their end with verbal conversation.

Millie was still enamored of the female agent, seeing in her a version of herself, had she chosen an adventurous career in law enforcement. Millie tended to forget that she had only become infatuated with the FBI after meeting…_Dave!_...

"So, Miss Princess…"

"Please, call me Emily."

"So, Miss Princess Emily…

Prentiss gagged on her scrambled eggs, but managed to recover without being too disruptive of the meal in progress.

"Just 'Emily.' Please."

"Oh! Of course. Silly me…" In truth, Millie wasn't as scatterbrained as she appeared. But she'd noticed Dave's ill-concealed mirth at Prentiss' expense. She loved making him smile. So, although she honestly believed the agent's name was 'Princess,' she saw how it amused elegant Mr. Rosie and chose to drop it into the conversation at will, eschewing the more familiar 'Emily.'

"So do you all have plans for the day?" Millie looked from face to face as she topped-off coffee cups, secretly hoping to usurp some of her visitors' time for herself. She would dearly love to sit on her porch with one…_or all!_...of the agents, chatting and sipping lemonade and iced tea in full view of the neighbors.

"I'm going to check on Hotch first thing. Then, I imagine our prospective parents here will want some time with the good doctor." Rossi once again almost mastered his lips before they broke into a smile. "I can't speak for Miss Prentiss, though." He gave the agent a sidelong look as he finished dabbing the corners of his mouth with one of Millie's embroidered napkins. "What's your day look like, Emily?"

Confronted with their hostess' beaming look of anticipation, Prentiss was quick to grope for an answer. "Uh…I thought I'd take a look around town. You know, just wander and see, you know…whatever there is to see…"

It was Julio who'd picked up on why Prentiss was really part of this group. She was curious. Nothing more, nothing less. He knew she was trustworthy. He sensed all present were eminently loyal, discreet friends. But he also knew how the doctor would feel about any outsider hovering around the edges of his town, and more particularly, his hospital…his sanctuary. Julio stood, placing his napkin neatly beside his plate.

"I am off to work. Thank you for another fine breakfast, Miss Millie." He turned his attention to Emily. "And I am sorry to say, Miss Prentiss, but there is very little for a tourist to see in this place. This town is built around our hospital. Our hospital is open only to patients and their friends or families."

He nodded a respectful goodbye to the group as he slipped into his jacket before delivering parting words that he hoped would offer an alternate escape route. "But if you enjoy the outdoors, hiking or bird watching perhaps? Then, there is much to see. The countryside is beautiful, but have a care if you enter the woods. It is easy to lose one's way. I have done so twice."

Prentiss was weighing the lesser of two evils: a day in Millie's company, enduring whatever fabulous fictions the woman associated with the FBI, or a day slogging about on the edges of the surrounding forest, primarily to avoid enduring fabulous fictions associated with the FBI.

Before she could decide, Reid stiffened. A heartbeat later, Ana followed suit. The others at the table gave them concerned looks, but Julio flashed his teeth in a smile. When he spoke, it was to address the non-ESP-ers in the room.

"Don't be alarmed. It is only the doctor, asking for some of you to attend him at his home."

Rossi was the first to rise. "Is Hotch alright? Did he say anything?"

"He just wants to see us; you, me and Ana." Reid had been surprised by the telepathic summons, but he had to admit he wouldn't have expected the old man to use a phone to contact them.

Rossi's grin went mischievously wide. "I'm sorry, Emily. If the doctor's invitation doesn't include you, I'm afraid you're on your own." When he saw the stricken look on her face, he threw her a bone. "Don't worry. I'll keep you in the loop about how Hotch's doing." He rose from the table and nodded at Millie. "And I'm sure we'll all touch bases later; if not at lunch, then certainly at the end of the day. Have a wonderful day, Miss Millie, and thank you for breakfast."

As the others abandoned her, Prentiss looked at her hostess' hopeful, happy face. _Well, it's my own fault for coming along. Should've listened to Morgan. This isn't a place where I belong. And I didn't bring hiking boots._

"Miss Millie, would you like some help with the dishes?"

The joyful light that shone in the proprietress' expression was so genuine it called up an answering smile from Prentiss. It faded a bit as she followed Millie into the kitchen and realized where the conversation was now headed.

"So, Emily, do you have someone special in your life? A young man perhaps? You know, you can't wait too long, even if you _are_ a spy, dear…."

It was going to be a long time until the others returned for lunch. _If_ they returned for lunch.

xxxxxxxx

Despite Reid's assurance that Hotch was fine, Rossi practically power-walked to the doctor's house. Reid's long legs allowed him to keep pace, but Ana had to trot or be left in the older agent's wake.

This time the front door was ajar; something Rossi took as an invitation to enter.

"Have a seat in the living room. I'll be out in a minute." The voice came from deeper within the house. Rossi led the way to the room with the sagging couch, half expecting to see Hotch sitting on it. When he noticed a tray set with tumblers and the bottle of old scotch, his anxiety level rose. He thought it was a little early in the day for liquor that powerful…unless its soothing properties were required to handle unsettling news.

"Don't worry. 'Unsettling' it may be, but my news is not bad." The old man entered the room carrying cups, a pitcher of coffee and a sugar bowl. "The scotch is primarily for me, but you're welcome to join in. I've been sitting up with your Aaron all night. It doesn't feel too early when one hasn't been to bed."

"All night? Is he okay? May I see him?" Rossi needed visual reassurance of his friend's wellbeing.

The doctor gestured with one arm, nodding permission. "You know the way."

Ana and Reid followed Rossi to Hotch's room. They halted in the doorway at the sight.

Curled on his side, covered from the hips down by a rumpled, flannel sheet, the Unit Chief was sleeping with a small, peaceful smile barely visible on his slightly parted lips. Rossi moved to the bedside as the doctor caught up with them.

"He sleeps remarkably well. I can't help but compare it to the last time you brought him to me." The old man tilted his head, regarding his patient with an almost fond expression. "Then, he was so sleep deprived he was bordering on physical collapse. But now, he's getting more and better rest than any of us could ever hope to. On our own at least."

_Is that because of my baby?_ Ana didn't know if she should be apprehensive or glad for Hotch's sound sleep.

_Aloud, please, empath. What we discuss regarding this patient is also of primary concern to this man who cannot participate if we speak telepathically. _She felt a pulse of reassurance. _But I believe your child is safe. Let's go over the details verbally._

Unaware of the exchange between Ana and the doctor, Rossi frowned. "Could you just tell me if everything's fine _now_? If there's something going on between him and an unborn child, are either one of them in any kind of danger?"

"We'll discuss that, but Aaron should be present." The doctor gave Rossi a pat on the back as he turned to leave. "Wake him up and, when he's ready, come join us."

Reid was preoccupied, inspecting what he could see of Hotch's torso. He lifted the sheet away and stared at the previously wounded thigh, a look of stunned awe mixing with rampant curiosity on his face.

_Doctor, could you tell me…teach me…how you heal?_

_No, telepath. That knowledge is not a gift to be given and received. It's a gift to be earned. If healing is your choice, you will make it your destiny. But I would waste my time and effort to teach you something so involved if you didn't choose to devote your life to it._

Rossi didn't know why Reid's sigh was so disappointed. From what he could see, Hotch's body looked almost perfect.


	26. Diagnosis

"Wake up, Hotch…Aaron, wake up."

"Mmmphhffffff."

"C'mon. Up."

The Unit Chief opened one lazy eye and trained it, in an impassive stare, on his friend.

"Dave." He turned over onto his back and ran a hand over his face, trying to rub the lingering drowsiness away. His eyes winced at the light coming through the coarsely woven drapes.

"What time is it? I slept through the night?" On their previous visit, Hotch remembered coming awake and finding out he'd been under for a lot longer than eight or nine hours. He hoped that scenario hadn't been repeated.

"You slept through the night…just the one, by the way." Rossi had a feeling he knew what was on his boss' mind. But he was also waiting for another realization to hit him. He stood back, smiling, waiting for Aaron to wake up enough to remember why he was here in the first place. It took the space of one yawn for things to click.

Hotch sat up abruptly, running his hands over his chest and ribs. Assured of his upper body being sound, he flipped the bedding back and leaned toward his right thigh. When he looked up at Rossi, both men grinned as though it were Christmas morning.

"He did it! He healed me!"

"Did you ever doubt that he would?" Rossi stood back, arms folded, and enjoyed the sight of unguarded happiness on Aaron's face.

"No, but…well,…maybe a little." Hotch swung his legs around and stood up, testing the formerly injured one by shifting his weight onto it and giving a small hop. "I mean, the last time, sure he helped me, but it wasn't physical injury. Except toward the end of our stay when I pulled that muscle. But that was _nothing_ like getting shot."

Rossi raised his chin and gave Hotch a calculating look. "You didn't tell me anything about a pulled muscle last time. What happened?"

"It was nothing." Hotch looked up and saw by Dave's single raised brow that he wouldn't accept less than a full account of the incident. But the Unit Chief thought he knew how to cut the tale short. "It was something that happened during that _sponge bath_, Dave. Remember the _sponge bath_?Do you _really_ want me to go there?" Hotch raised one of his own brows in challenge. "Reliving it might make me reconsider the whole payback situation. Might make me think I'm down by more than a purple unicorn. Might make me think I need to catch up. Big time."

Visions of his beautifully landscaped mansion being overrun by caterers and coworkers the last time Hotch made good on the threat of payback played past Rossi's inner eye. "Alright. We'll forget about last time." The calculating look waned, replaced by a grin. "You look healed. How do you feel?"

"Great. Hungry." Then Hotch remembered the other half of what occurred when he stopped two of Calvin Saunderson's bullets. "How's Ana? Melinda?"

Rossi felt his skin prickle and shiver at the name the Reids favored for their child, but hadn't revealed to anyone until Hotch had spoken it as matter-of-factly as if it were common knowledge. He swallowed. "Reid and Ana are here. They're waiting in the living room. The doc wants us out there, too."

This time both of Hotch's eyebrows rose, questioning, seeking any and all available information regarding the young family-in-the-making. He was disappointed when Rossi shook his head and shrugged.

"That's all I know. I think the doc wants us all together before he says anything." His look traveled over Hotch's unclad body. "And I think Reid and Ana might re-damage you if you don't hurry up and get out there so we can hear what all this baby-link stuff is about."

With his newly restored agility, Hotch was dressed and ready in less than three minutes.

xxxxxxxxx

Anticipating his patient's appetite, but not being much of a cook, the doctor had added a plate of assorted doughnuts to the coffee service and the bottle of scotch.

While the doctor sipped his drink, the others helped themselves to the rest of the refreshments. It was clear that Ana was anxious for the informational part of the meeting to begin. She let the doctor settle back in one of his cushioned Adirondack chairs before honoring his request and using verbal communication to begin the discussion she hoped would provide answers and comfort.

"So, doctor…_is _my baby somehow in contact with Hotch?"

The old man took another sip, readying himself for a diagnostic session unlike any he'd every had with prospective parents. "In a word, yes. An _aspect_ of your child is extremely attracted to Aaron."

"An 'aspect?' What does that mean?" Reid was impatient. Being forced to bypass his telepathic abilities just when he wanted to use them most was making him tense and a little hyper.

"There is a nascent part of your child, in a formative stage, that finds Aaron's psyche a sympathetic, hospitable place."

The newlyweds exchanged glances. It meant nothing to them. Rossi put it best.

"I don't understand. At all."

"I'm not surprised. I've never seen anything similar myself. And considering the span of years during which I've been practicing the medical arts, that's saying a lot."

Reid cut to the quick. "Are the baby or Hotch in danger?" He could tell the doctor was holding back his telepathy, giving each and every word careful consideration as he approached a subject that, apparently, was as new to him as it was to the rest of them.

"Aaron is frequently in danger. That's part of his job." The doctor cradled his glass and studied its contents. "It's my belief that when Aaron was hurt, the formative essence that is the _aspect_ of your baby residing in him, was so traumatized it fled back to its mother, to its _physical_ aspect. I don't believe it's capable of cogent thought…yet…but it absorbed Aaron's pain and fright. When it returned, it released that pain and fright. With an empath for a mother, the impact of that release must have felt sudden and extremely potent."

Silence reigned. The doctor continued.

"So, although I don't believe the child's presence is harming Aaron, I do think it affects him. Perhaps in ways that could also affect his performance in dangerous situations. If the link isn't broken, it could progress to a point where he _is_ endangered. But for now, he's not the one for whom I'm most concerned."

Ana's face went a shade paler. "But you think the baby's in danger, don't you." It was statement, not question. Even if telepathic communication was off the table, her empathic antennae could pick up waves of emotion within the group. The doctor's worry was thick and palpable. When he nodded, her fears were confirmed.

"In the long run it'll be bad for both of them. But right now, that aural aspect of your child is unable to defend itself, or recognize danger before it happens, enabling it to vacate its host. If Aaron is harmed in the course of his duties, it could have a very real effect on your baby's psychic development." He looked from husband to wife. "And with an empath and a telepath for parents, the child's psyche is already phenomenally sensitive. I would hate to see it turned into something…malformed."

The word pierced the newlyweds, spreading a chilly dread through their veins.

The doctor gave them a moment to accept the theoretical gravity of the situation before continuing.

"Now, having thoroughly frightened you, let me say that I _do_ believe we can remedy the situation without too much trauma to either Aaron or the presence within him. But I also want to impress upon all of you that this is new territory for me. Once we set things right, you'll need to keep a close watch on yourselves and those around you…particularly Aaron…for unforeseen side effects, or even regression…reoccupation."

Hotch returned his unfinished doughnut to the tray. His appetite had been replaced by a wad of confused apprehension. His eyes were focused inward. The doctor leaned toward him, reading the swirl of thoughts and emotions; reading the recall of terror the last time he'd known his mind to have been invaded.

"Son? We _will_ fix this. Do you understand?" The assurance in the old healer's voice brought Hotch back from his inner musings, but didn't dispel his concerns. When he spoke, despite his peaceful night's rest, he sounded tired, almost defeated.

"No. I _don't_ understand. What's wrong with me? Why does this kind of thing keep happening? Am I so weak-minded that anyone, any_thing_ can just walk in and take over? And now, because of that, I'm putting a child at risk?"

Reid and the doctor spoke in unison. "No."… "It's not like that."

"You're not 'weak-minded,' son. Think, rather, _open_-minded." _Tell him, telepath. Tell him what you know from having traveled through him. And then I'll try to explain how I believe this all began._

The young agent caught his leader's focus. "Hotch, remember when we were just finding out about all this ESP stuff? Remember when I tried to rid you of that unsub's touch in your mind? The one you picked up when you rescued me, brought me back?"

Hotch gave a slow, single nod, but his eyes were guarded, willing to listen, but still holding onto self-doubt.

"The catch in that process was that I _still_ didn't know how to get out once I was in another person's psyche. I was just as lost in you as I'd been in him." Reid's voice softened. "But I didn't mind. I wasn't scared and I thought that if I _had_ to be lost somewhere, you were a nice place for it to happen. I even wandered around for a while; kind of sight-seeing I guess you could call it."

He paused, eidetic memory bringing up the ordered, peaceful, sane landscape he'd found in his boss. It sounded wistful when he rendered his final judgment. "You have a beautiful mind, Hotch."

"You do." Ana echoed her husband's opinion. "Not weak, but pleasant, enjoyable." She ducked her head. "I guess that's why I checked on you a little more than was strictly necessary. It was just nice to touch bases with it…with you."

At her statement, the old doctor's lips thinned a bit in silent censure. But he kept quiet; his piece would come later, after Aaron had been reassured he was in no way mentally deficient.

"I appreciate what you guys are saying." Hotch's eyes were still shadowed with doubt. "But I'm betting you both have 'beautiful' minds, too. Probably more so than mine. Why wouldn't she pick her father, or be happy just to stay with her mother? You're her parents. I still don't understand."

"Me neither." Rossi was with Hotch on this one. The whole situation defied his attempts to grasp it. _Again, I have to take so much 'on faith,' and I just can't. I need to know the why, the wherefore._

The doctor's deep voice filled the ensuing pause.

"Actually, the nascent presence _is _attracted to her parents. She's also attracted to what might appear to be something with genetic kinship to her." He settled back, still gazing at Hotch. "Which is exactly why you are the perfect place for her to rest."

He freshened his tumbler of scotch and took a deep breath.

"Let me try to explain…"


	27. Perfect Psychic Storm

The doctor's words made all four of his guests exchange looks. Clearly, more explanation was needed. _Lots_ of explanation.

Hotch leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. Growling with exasperation, he ruffled his hair as he sat up, allowing his cowlicks a return to dominance. His voice was rough with frustration.

"What do you mean I'm a 'perfect' place for this essence, this presence, whatever it is, to rest? You say she's seeking out her mother and father? I'm not either of her parents! Why would she beat a path into me?"

"Ah…" The doctor's voice deepened with gentle sincerity. "It's the concept of a path into you, Aaron, that holds the answer. At least…," he looked around the group, underlining the uncertainty of his next words. "…at least that is my working theory. It's formed from what I saw while examining you. Now give me a chance to lead you through my train of thought."

Four pairs of eyes fastened on the elderly man who, for the first time, didn't seem so all-knowing, so omnipotent, as they'd all come to expect of him. Still, he was someone who emanated power coupled with compassion; a combination that inspired trust.

"I believe the telepath and I see similar auras; ones related to residual psychic energy. This energy is as individual as DNA. Just as your genetic makeup has afforded you the capability of being psychic, it has defined the energy that attends the use of your powers. A trace of this energy is left behind when ESP-ers use their talents. Usually, it disperses, depending on the elapsed time since it was emitted, and the native power of the psychic who generated it."

He looked at Hotch, head tilted as he considered the interesting journey he'd taken through the man's mind. "When I examined Aaron, I found, in addition to the nascent essence, two distinct trails of residue."

Reid and Ana gave each other sidelong looks.

_Spencer…_

_I know. Not sure I like where this is headed._

_Children, don't drift. This is important. _The rolling ocean-voice that was the doctor's brought them back to the verbal discussion.

"Telepath, your mind is extremely powerful in many ways, not the least of which is your ESP-er talent. When you entered your friend's mind, as you know, you brought many things with you. And you left many of those things behind."

"The ghosts." Reid's voice was small, reluctant to bring up the horrors to which he'd unwittingly subjected Hotch.

"Yes. The ghosts, which you removed. But you also left behind your own residual energy. Each time you entered him, while you were lost, while you were 'sight-seeing,' you left your mark, your footprint. You left a path with your distinct psychic essence attached to it."

Reid's eyes were tragic. "Oh, God. Hotch, I'm so sorry."

The doctor held up a hand, forestalling further apology. "In and of itself, your energy is not a bad thing. It didn't vacate when you took back your ghosts, because it simply isn't the same type of material as those fragments of memory. It remains. In fact, you left even more of it during that process, I believe, because of the traumatic effect reclaiming those memories had on you."

The doctor turned his regard to Ana. "The next part in setting up this psychic 'perfect storm' is partially my fault. I advised you to enter Aaron's mind as a way of weaning him off of his contact with your husband. From what I heard you say a moment ago, you enjoyed the procedure and have touched him far more than was strictly necessary. Is that true, empath?"

Ana bit her lip, aware that everyone was waiting for her to affirm the doctor's suspicions. She nodded. "Yes. I wanted to be sure he was okay. He'd been through so much, and Spencer loves him and felt bad for having hurt him…" Her voice grew smaller. "…and Hotch _is_ a nice place to visit. I guess I got a little selfish and sometimes I'd touch him just because _I_ wanted to, because it was like taking a deep, cleansing sort of breath mentally." She sniffed before continuing. "But I stopped as soon as I knew Spencer didn't want me doing it anymore."

The doctor saw a shadow pass over Reid's face and fastened on him. _Jealousy is a destructive thing, telepath. And I assure you it is unwarranted._

Rossi watched Reid shift in his seat and guessed something in the nature of a private reprimand had been delivered. The old man let a few heartbeats pass for his message to sink in before resuming.

"Again, you did no harm, empath. But also, _again_, you left your own residual energy as you have every time you've accessed Aaron. He now contains traces of both of you within him. The same combination that is part of the child you created together. The same combination that draws her forth and offers her a feeling of companionship…" He smiled at last. "…and, as you say, Aaron is a nice place. There is nothing to prevent the nascent essence from feeling welcome. More than that: it feels a sense of belonging. In effect, the child finds her whole family in Aaron: herself, her mother, her father."

In the silence that followed, gently, unobtrusively, the ancient healer took a reading on each of his guests. He found a wide gamut of reactions, but the one that concerned him most was Aaron's. The telepath and the empath were already reconciling, reconfirming the deep love and commitment they shared with small, mental pulses of communication. The once-and-future-father was a little stunned as he tried to incorporate what he saw as an alternate view touching on facets of the immortal soul into his belief system. But in Aaron, he sensed lingering fear and confusion and a desperate desire to be left alone.

"I need some air. Excuse me." Hotch stood, brushed some doughnut crumbs from his jeans, and began to maneuver his way past the others. As he walked toward the front door and the wooded countryside beyond, the old doctor caught Rossi's eye and nodded.

It didn't take telepathy for the message to be understood. _Go after your son._

xxxxxxxx

Hotch didn't go far.

He stopped just inside the line of towering evergreens standing a few dozen yards away behind the doctor's house. He wanted to be out of sight. He wanted a break from a world where thoughts and feelings were spoken of as tangible objects you could pick up in your hands and examine. _Or throw them away, as far from you as you can._

He leaned against the rough bark of a tree trunk. Letting his head fall back to rest on the comforting solidity of the wood, he closed his eyes. They remained closed when he heard footsteps approaching, crunching through short, crisp grass. He knew who it was before the hand patted his chest and came to rest on his shoulder.

"I'm okay, Dave. I just need a minute."

"I know. Me, too."

Rossi let his friend breathe and listen to the soft murmur of the breeze as it stirred the trees far above them. After a moment, Hotch spoke. His voice was low and weary.

"I can't tell you how much I admire Reid and all he's done over these last few years. The sheer amount of change he's adapted to is more than I could ever handle."

Rossi let his hand knead the tight muscles, wishing he could relieve emotional tension as easily.

"Reid's brain is different, Aaron. He was meant for the changes, the evolution, we're seeing. You're not."

"I know. I'm just…I get…I'm...I'm so _tired_ of the way something weird happens right when I think everything's going to stay put long enough for us all to get used to the way things are." He opened his eyes and looked into Rossi's. "I can't keep up. You know?"

Rossi nodded.

"And now I want to hide from it all. Just close my eyes and make it all go away."

Rossi smiled. "Sounds like something a little kid would do. You're not a little kid anymore."

"Sure about that? What I'm hearing is part of me _is_ a little kid…or, not even that…more like an embryo. Inside my mind, Dave. It's in my mind and that scares me." Rossi slipped his hand behind Hotch's shoulder, levered him away from the tree trunk and into a hug.

"It scares me, too. I keep getting thrown curveballs of weird, too."

Hotch pulled far enough away to be able to look into the face before him.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Nothing…nothing." _Maybe someday I'll tell him about the whole reincarnation thing, but not today. He has enough on his plate. And I'm not sure I believe the whole father-son thing anyway._ Rossi looped his arm around Hotch's shoulders and steered him back toward the house.

"For now, let's take it one step at a time. The old doc said he thought he could fix this. Let's at least hear him out. Okay?"

Hotch nodded, but Rossi felt something defeated in the way the shoulders under his touch slumped. Unknowingly, he echoed the elderly healer's earlier thought.

_How often can a man go through this kind of thing before it scars him…scars his mind…his soul…irreparably?_


	28. Jealousy and Innocence

After Hotch and Rossi left, Reid thought the ban on using telepathy could be considered temporarily lifted.

_I see what you're saying about how all this might have happened to our child's psyche, but what do we do to fix it?_

_Without any risk to either our baby or Hotch, _Ana interjected.

The doctor shook his head. _There is always risk. And I feel it bears repeating: this is new territory for me as well. So, although no better help than mine can be found, the methods I wish to use have not been proven effective for your specific circumstances. Still…_a decidedly cheerier note infused his thoughts…_I __**do**__ think we can get through this without anyone coming to harm. As I said before, I see the greatest risk occurring and, therefore, the greatest vigilance being needed, in the months, or even years, after we separate the essence from Aaron._

Reid's brows drew together. _And that risk would be if Hotch and our baby…Melinda…_ He smiled as he officially used the name they'd been considering for the first time…_.somehow meld together again, right?_

_Yes. The child won't know any better. She'll only know she wants something; that something's missing from her world. She'll find him and try to resume her contact. What concerns me most is that we have no idea just how powerful this offspring of yours will be. And there is another thing to consider: as the psyche of your child rests in Aaron, it also becomes comfortable, and therefore attracted to, his own natural presence; what he is on his own, separate and alone from the residual energies that initially lured her in. Even when she is removed and has her own parents to fill the void, she may be drawn to seek out that very particular combination that resides in Aaron and is unique to him. _

_In addition, I suspect that even without having developed her cognitive processes, the child might learn resistance from the initial separation. If she finds a way to return, we may not be able to remove her again…at least, not by the same means._ The doctor raised his chin, appearing to listen to something. _Your friends are returning. We'll go over how I think we should proceed once they arrive._

During the few minutes it took Hotch and Rossi to walk back to the house, the doctor had the opportunity to make sure there was no lingering misunderstanding between the young father-to-be and his wife.

_Telepath, you do understand the empath's desire to touch Aaron's mind is no threat to you, don't you?_

Reid nodded, but there was still a sulky look to him. He realized neither Ana nor their host were going to be fooled. _I know there's nothing to be jealous of, but…_he raised his head and confronted the old man defiantly…_I still feel…greedy…when it comes to her. I know I don't need to, but I do._

The doctor's answering smile reassured the young agent that he wasn't a complete fool to feel the way he did. Not a total, complete, _imbecilic_ fool… but maybe only a trifle fool_ish_; a much more charitable way to judge his reaction.

_Telepath, I keep forgetting how young the rest of humanity is. Of course you feel protective and wary when other males enter the picture. She is the greatest gift you have every received. But you know innately that she is not your property. There is an inherent conflict in the two realizations._

Reid couldn't deny the truth of the old healer's words. He glanced toward Ana, reluctant to touch her mind in case he found himself censured there. But her smile was as large as he knew her heart to be. He let himself reach out to her and absorbed her thoughts.

_Spencer, you have no idea how just the right amount of jealousy, without hate or anger, makes me feel…well,…cherished. I never meant to hurt you. I only meant to help Hotch. Because you love him. You introduced us and showed me __**why**__ you love him, so now I do, too. But you're the only one who I'll even __**begin**__ to allow to have the notion of 'ownership.'_

Reid's smile finally emerged. _I know. Not being able to exercise at least a modicum of control over my reactions is new to me. I guess that's because the doctor's right: you're my biggest, best present ever._

_And you're mine._

The old doctor chose that moment to discreetly take the coffeepot back to the kitchen, ostensibly to brew more. No matter how long he existed, he would never forget what it was like to be in love. While the young couple in his living room reaffirmed their commitment to each other and to helping their dearest friend, he thought of his long-gone Catherine.

And of jealousy, and of passion, and of how very messy life was when one lived it to its fullest.

Messy and indescribably wonderful.

xxxxxxxx

When Rossi and Hotch took their seats among the others, the atmosphere was calmer than when they had left. But Hotch himself was clearly uncomfortable with the idea that his psyche was, once again, a way station for outsiders. All eyes were trained on him as he stared at the floor, still considering what he'd been told about his own mind.

After a moment's observation, the old healer sighed, rose from his chair and moved to stand behind the Unit Chief. When he reached around and let one hand rest, spanning across the base of Hotch's throat, everyone knew he was administering more than just a comforting touch. Hotch straightened, but didn't resist. He knew this man would never hurt him. After a moment, he visibly relaxed, his shoulders releasing tension. His eyes lost their guarded look. He seemed to be watching some internal landscape. When a faint smile touched Hotch's lips, the doctor echoed his expression, let his hand drop away, and stepped back.

"That's all it is, Aaron. It's only a wandering child who was lucky enough to find a kind stranger."

Hotch nodded. He took a deep breath and the tension he'd let go, didn't return.

"What was that all about?" Rossi couldn't resist putting his own protective hand on his friend's shoulder, reclaiming his own special bond. "What just happened?"

The doctor resumed his seat. "I showed Aaron what we're up against. I let him feel that his intruder has no evil intent. In fact, no intent at all. Only instinct and innocence. And love. I let him feel its love." He addressed Hotch directly. "There are no monsters inside you, son. This isn't like last time."

Reid and Ana were leaning forward, eagerness in both their eyes. "You _showed_ him? Our child?"

The doctor nodded. "As I see it…yes."

"Could we see her? Would you help us to see?" Ana's questions held a note of pleading.

"No." The flat refusal made both parents-to-be blink. "I'm sorry, but neither of you should ever access Aaron's mind again. It will be necessary for you, empath, to do so one more time, but you'll be supervised and, _it will be the last time. _And if we are successful and manage to coax the psychic aspect of your child out, I hope we can find a way to let this poor man enjoy the privacy and sanctity of being his mind's sole occupant."

"And just how are we supposed to accomplish this…coaxing?" Rossi wasn't sure he would understand the answer, but as far as he was concerned, the sooner they implemented whatever plan the old physician had devised to meet their needs, the better. He couldn't rid his own mind of the doctor's repeated statements that he had never encountered this situation before. Rossi was more than a little worried about what the next step would entail. And whether or not it would be successful.

"The best plans are simple. And I believe, based on our last experience together, that we can employ a variation of how the telepath called his ghosts home."

Reid and Ana huddled closer together. Despite the outcome last time, those memories were not their fondest. This wasn't a journey they wanted to repeat

Ana's fingers interlaced with her husband's.

_Our child and our best friend are at stake, Spencer._

_Let's just hope we don't have to choose one over the other._


	29. Once and Future

At mention of repeating the procedure used in calling Reid's ghosts home, there was an infinitesimal shift of his guests away from the elderly doctor. No one wanted to relive it.

The procedure had ended with Hotch retaining his sanity; with Reid receiving his aural vision; with Ana having had a chance to know her dead sister Sarah's spirit still existed in some indefinable way. But the sheer terror experienced primarily by the two men had left its mark. The doctor felt the group's recoil, both physical and mental.

"_If_ I'm right, it won't be as _epic_ as last time, children."

He was still surrounded by lowered eyes and small signs of barriers being erected…crossed arms, bodies leaning away, jaw muscles clenching. The old man sighed.

"Then let me put it this way: I've already consulted with Julio Ruiz…telepathically, while he was on his way to work and you were on your way here from Millie's. There is no choice."

"I know." Reid was the first to admit the inevitable. "It's just last time was pretty memorable. Not anxious to go there again."

Hotch looked up. "It might make it a little more palatable if we knew what to expect. Or at least, what to hope for, even if you _did_ say this is new ground for you, too, doc."

Rossi's smile was grim. "Even if I'm not directly involved, I'd like to know the details, as much as you can tell us, too. So…can you fill in some of the gaps? When? How? Best case scenario versus worst case scenario?"

"I wish I had more to tell you." The old face did seem a little more ancient when touched by doubt, when even an unimaginable lifespan couldn't supply all the answers. "Julio is going to use his unique skills in fashioning whatever protection he deems necessary. We already discussed Aaron. He would like to let his _orishas_ speak to him and then he'll know more. He'll need to see you three before we go any further." The doctor's reference took in Reid, Ana, and Hotch.

"I think the sooner we prepare and the sooner we do this, the better."

That was the one thing all present could agree on, although rather than a 'let's make it better as soon as possible' attitude, the more apprehensive one of 'let's just get this over with' prevailed.

The doctor stood and walked his visitors to the door. "Go to the hospital. Julio will let me know when everything's ready and we can begin."

As Rossi moved to follow the others, their host placed a restraining hand on his arm, holding him back. "Nothing will happen to them. This is all preparatory. I'd like it if you'd stay behind so we can talk. Please."

Rossi's brows rose. He glanced at the others, seeing his own inquisitive expression mirrored.

"We'll be fine, Dave. I'll call you, if we need anything." Hotch let a slightly mischievous smile touch his lips. "And maybe someone should check on Prentiss, too. Something tells me this isn't exactly her natural habitat…you know?"

Rossi shrugged and stepped back from the door. "Okay. I'll see you guys later."

The older men watched as the other three walked across the small front yard and turned down the street toward where the hospital and a Palero priest waited. Rossi shook his head.

_They look like three friends out for a stroll. It's hard to reconcile what this place really is with how it looks. If it ever got out what this village is all about, no one would believe it._

The doctor's chuckle reminded him again of the strangeness concealed beneath the serene exterior.

"We rely on outsiders' willingness to judge us by our façade for protection." The old man returned to his chair and gestured for Rossi to resume his own seat.

"Which brings me to a couple of matters I wish to discuss." He saw Rossi's carefully composed, expression of noncommittal, mild interest. It was one that served him well in his official capacity with the FBI. It invited confidences and assured those who revealed them of escaping overt judgment.

_But underneath, he's apprehensive; worried for his friends as well as for his beliefs._

"First of all, the stranger, the woman you brought with you this time…"

Rossi's eyes crinkled at the corners. "Agent Prentiss. One of our team."

The doctor nodded. "Yes. I know that she is a trustworthy member of your small circle, but I must ask that she be excluded from taking part in, or witnessing, anything that touches on the true nature of this settlement. I simply wish to confine and contain our risk of being noticed by the outside world. It is not a comment on your colleague's character, but rather on my secretive disposition. Do you understand?"

Rossi nodded. "You're right. Prentiss poses no threat, but I'm sure she'll be sympathetic to your concerns. I'll see to it she's otherwise occupied while we're tending to Hotch and Ana."

"Thank you." The doctor leaned forward in his chair, elbows on knees, hands clasped as he searched his own thoughts, considering the topic he wished to introduce next.

_Am I doing this for his benefit…to set his mind at ease? To give him a chance to allay his doubts and grasp a different set of spiritual parameters? Or am I merely curious…taking advantage of an unforeseen opportunity to test a theory I've previously considered __**un**__testable?_

"The second item I wish to discuss is of a much more speculative, and for you perhaps sensitive, nature."

Rossi swallowed, but remained silent, his eyes moving, noticing a certain unease in this normally unflappable man. _Oh, God. What's next?_

The old physician emerged from his self-evaluation, pulled from it by the anxiety he read in his guest. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to worry you unduly. My concern is one of personal motive. I assure you there is nothing dangerous lurking in the wings. But it could be very uncomfortable for a man of your particular faith."

"I'm intrigued." Rossi felt saying as little as possible was the best tactic when you had no idea what was about to pounce out at you.

After a moment, the doctor came to a decision. He would not allow this chance to see more deeply into the mysteries of life and death and life again to pass by. He looked into his visitor's wary eyes. "I'm afraid I've invaded your privacy more than was strictly necessary." He held up a hand, knowing the agent would protest that _no_ invasion was required in his opinion. "I always read the thoughts and feelings of those who enter this town. It's a matter of detecting threat to our community before it becomes outright danger. But in your case I accessed a bit more. I looked into your memories, your past."

"Why?" Rossi felt a frisson of outrage, but he had a feeling that this ancient being whose humanity was at once extraordinary for its compassion, but questionable for its advancement beyond the bounds of what mankind could rightly claim, must have a good reason for trespassing.

"Because I believe it could help us both understand the true nature of your connection to Aaron. And I care about him; about what touches his life. As do you. It could provide a sort of proof, if you're willing to consider the possibility."

Rossi had been leaning forward, now he sat back, skeptical. "You're saying there's a way to prove that Hotch and I are tied together in some sort of father-son relationship?"

"Not definitive proof…no. But, for me, a greater certainty in the concept of reincarnation; for you, perhaps a lessening of doubt." The doctor's voice grew softer. "Or an epiphany that may force you to reconstruct the entire foundation of your faith."

Rossi's throat felt dry. He licked his lips. "As I said: I'm intrigued."

The doctor saw this man's willingness to listen as a hopeful sign. _He has an innate desire to discover the truth of all things…not just in his work, but in his life. This is a good man on every level. But of course, Aaron's true father would be nothing less._

He leaned toward Rossi even more, body language giving emphasis to his eagerness to embrace the subject at hand. "I begin by saying that in my long life I have found that most superstitions and old wives' tales can be found to contain a grain of truth. At their inception, they were more factual than legendary."

Rossi nodded once.

"I read in your mind, in your past, that you did indeed have a son in this life. That you lost him almost immediately. I'm sorry."

Rossi swallowed, mastering the prickly heat behind his eyes that presaged tears. _Even after all this time, it hurts. James, who never had a chance._

The doctor paused, letting his guest regain his composure. "Again, I'm sorry. For your loss and for prying into your past."

"Then why do it, if you're so sorry now?" It was a little rough, but Rossi didn't like his personal grief laid bare to anyone.

"The old wives' tale I reference has to do with the passage of a soul from one life to another. Over and over I have encountered the belief that a soul reincarnate cannot bear to be in the presence of the remains that previously housed it. Or should have housed it." He waited for a response, but Rossi's regard was impassive.

"Your son was interred in the town where you currently live. Where you and Aaron currently live."

"Yes. Not that it's anyone's business, but I visit him sometimes. Him and his mother. They rest together, side by side." Rossi closed his eyes. This was too personal. Yet, even as he thought it, he knew this odd, old man was probably reading him. He was sure of it when he felt a pulse of warmth, of shared sorrow touch him. And the doctor's voice when he resumed talking, was strained.

"I know this is hard. I have lost so many, many loved ones. I _do_ understand. But I think if you hear me out, in the end there may be comfort waiting for you. I hope so, at any rate."

Rossi took a deep breath, expelled it with slow deliberation, and opened his eyes. "Go ahead."

"Have you ever taken Aaron with you to visit the grave of your son?"

"No. He's one of the few who knows I lost a child, but I've never invited him along. It's something I need to do alone, when I do go. He's never asked about it, or offered to accompany me. I think _he_ respects my privacy." The barb wasn't lost on the doctor, but he continued to press his case.

"Do you think Aaron would go with you, if you asked him?"

Rossi shrugged. "Probably. But I wouldn't. As I said, it's something I do alone."

"Ask him." The doctor sat back, no longer leaning, no longer aiming himself toward his guest. "See how being in the proximity of the remains of one son affects the other."

Before the look of repelled reluctance at the suggestion could pass from Rossi's face, the doctor put in his last word on the subject.

"I know how heartless, how insensitive, this all sounds. But I have never encountered such an opportunity." His voice quieted, losing its earnest edge. "And I do care deeply about our Aaron. And by extension…you. He loves you, as you love him. It is _rare_ to have the configuration of souls that I detect in a time frame that includes the migration and reappearance of one.

"Earlier, I used the term 'perfect storm' in relation to Aaron's psyche. I suspect this is another perfect alignment, but of a different kind. A perfect storm of souls."

Rossi let the idea sink in for a moment, testing it. Although he didn't accept the concept of reincarnation, he'd run into others who were firm believers. And something bothered him about the time frame this old doctor found so alluring. "My son passed away long ago, but Aaron had already been born at the time. If he's my son, what was he _before_ James died? Are you saying Aaron as a very young child didn't have a spirit; was soulless?"

Immeasurable sorrow filled the ancient eyes. "No. Not at all. I've studied Aaron extensively. Surely you know of his childhood? The violence? The abuse?"

Rossi nodded, unwilling to discuss such a private matter that he knew Hotch preferred to keep secret. He was willing to acknowledge it, but loathe to explore the details.

The doctor continued, voice filled with regret and a subtle anger at the inhumanity of what he'd seen in his patient's past. "I don't think you understand the extent of what Aaron endured. His spirit was shattered, broken. The pieces irretrievably damaged. I can't claim to know the dynamics and details of how souls mend or move. But I am as sure as I can be that when your James died in body, Aaron died in soul. Aaron was granted a second lease on life. He _is_ your son. I feel it in my heart and believe it with all _my_ soul."

Silence.

Rossi saw nothing but age and sorrow and hope in the face of this man who was trying to enlist his aid in an investigation of what he himself had always been taught was an impossibility. He rubbed a hand over his face and decided to…compartmentalize.

"I'll think about it. And if I _do_ take Aaron to see my son's grave, I'll let you know the outcome." He looked at the table where the leftover coffee and doughnuts the doctor had provided rested in a disarray of crumbs. The bottle of old scotch still sat on its tray.

The doctor smiled when he saw his guest's wistful glance. Reaching out, he picked up a clean glass and poured a few fingers of liquor into it. He held it out toward Rossi.

"Still think it's too early for this?"


	30. Tools of the Trade

The walk to the hospital was quiet. Reid and Ana were lost in each other's thoughts; Hotch in his own. Or at least what he _hoped_ were his own. He couldn't be sure anymore. He hated doubting himself. He believed one of his job requirements was to be decisive, quick, and judicial in his thinking. He wasn't sure he still retained those qualities.

When the three friends entered the main hospital door, the receptionist flashed them a welcoming smile.

_We've been expecting you. Mr. Ruiz is in the midst of his preparations, but you can go on back._ A lilt of humor rippled through her thoughts. _Just follow the sound of his voice. But don't interrupt; allow him to finish, _she hastened to add.

She nodded at Hotch. "Mr. Ruiz is expecting you. I think you'll be able to find him easily enough." Her gesture toward the door accessing the hospital's inner sanctum gave them all tacit permission to enter.

Sure enough, once within the main hallway that lay beyond the lobby, they could hear the deep, sonorous voice of the Palero, chanting the language with which he called his saints. He asked them for guidance, advice, instruction, affirmation. When his need was sincere, they had never failed him. This time was no different.

Reid, Ana and Hotch paused when they found him. The chanting had ceased. Julio was focused, hands passing over a wide array of beads, feathers, corded strings, and other objects spread across the length of a large, rectangular table. As they watched from the doorway, his eyes closed. Various items moved, separating themselves from the general supply. One or two of the smaller, lighter pieces seemed to jump from their places, eager to let the priest's fingers include them in whatever charm he was seeking to build.

After a moment, he froze. The head turned. The eyes opened. They fastened on Hotch. The three observers shivered. What looked out of Julio's eyes wasn't familiar to them. Reid had the impression of a stranger inhabiting the Palero, using him to see and to manipulate physical objects.

_I don't think that's Julio, Ana._

_I think you're right. It doesn't __**feel**__ like him. But it wants Hotch._

Before Reid could give voice to his suspicion that they were in the presence of one of Julio's _orishas,_ the man straightened, walking to stand within inches of the Unit Chief. He placed gentle, but commanding hands on each side of the agent's shoulders. Hotch raised his chin, giving the man touching him a look that hovered halfway between inquisitive and challenging. Hotch didn't like being touched in a way that made him feel someone was trying to control him.

"Hello, Mr. Ruiz. Or is it _Dr._ Ruiz now?"

The thing looking out of Julio responded by moving one of its hands from Hotch's shoulder to his face, holding the man's head still, making eye contact inevitable. Before Hotch could bristle, preparatory to pulling out of the Palero's grip, Reid spoke in a soft, cautioning tone.

"That's not Julio, Hotch."

Ordinarily, he would have refuted the statement, but, knowing where he was and what they hoped to accomplish, Hotch swallowed, stood his ground and let whoever or whatever occupied Ruiz's body examine him. After an uncomfortable thirty seconds that felt twelve times as long to the Unit Chief, the Palero released him. But immediately grabbed his wrist, pulling Hotch further into the room, depositing him beside the table littered with the ingredients of his Palo Mayombe creed.

The last time Julio had exercised his craft, Hotch had been unconscious, unable to witness the phenomenon. This time he watched, chilled with the sense that he was in the presence of yet more forces alien to his normal, workaday world.

Tendons stood out on the backs of Julio's hands. As one picked a twisted, leather cord from a pile, the other passed over beads and stones. Hotch saw the selected items move of their own volition, jumping onto the cord and sliding into place. He glanced up and saw the priest's dark, unwavering stare fixed on him, reading…something. He swallowed back a wave of fear-engendered nausea. The process was fast. After the initial calling of _orishas_ and the inspection of the one for whom the charm was intended, creation of the charm itself was a matter of seconds. It was accomplished in a cascading rattle of beads and fetishes hitting each other in a rush of telekinetic movement, a flash of crystalline color.

It was another bracelet when it was complete. As it clattered to the tabletop, the _orisha_-ridden Julio turned his attention from Hotch to Ana.

Freed from the Palero's gaze, Hotch stepped backwards, away from the table. He stopped when he encountered a wall. Leaning against it, he watched as Ana took his place.

Again, the lengthy examination. Ruiz tilted his head from side to side, considering his subject. And, again, the clicking, rattling assemblage of charms and amulets. This time a necklace was produced, looking strangely delicate and pastel. Hotch frowned; it reminded him of something. Something he didn't particularly care for.

Reid was surprised when his turn came. He'd expected Hotch and Ana to be the focus of the procedure based on the comment the old doctor had made about this being the last time _Ana_ would access Hotch's psyche, and under supervision at that. He realized he had it deep in his mind that this was akin to some sort of birthing process where he would stand by wringing his hands and worrying while his wife endured the actual, strenuous experience. He had mixed feelings about being a participant. Once more, the memory of terror and blindness assailed him. But it ebbed fairly quickly and Reid found he would prefer to be with Ana, to stand side by psychic side with her no matter what happened.

When a second bracelet joined the other pieces he'd created, Ruiz's gaze went vacant. He gripped the edge of the table and swayed, bowing his head and taking several slow, deep breaths.

_He's back. It's Julio again._

"Julio?" Reid came to his side. "You alright?"

The Palero nodded, straightening. He looked at the table and fingered the new-made trinkets, a satisfied expression coming over his slightly perspiring face. "I don't usually make so many at once. My _orishas_ sense urgency. They have worked hard to set all in readiness quickly."

At the word 'urgency,' Ana, Reid and Hotch exchanged glances. Julio noticed.

"Don't worry. The doctor and I feel you have a very good chance for success."

"Chance." The prospective parents spoke in unison.

"Of course. Nothing is certain." The Palero's grin flashed white. "If you are to have a child, you must be ready to embrace uncertainty and surprise. I understand it goes with the territory." He closed his eyes for several seconds. When he opened them, he looked from face to face, all sings of levity gone.

"I have called the doctor. We begin as soon as he arrives. Ready yourselves."

xxxxxxxxx

Carol Bescardi was _more_ than ready.

Once the approval of her work release was official, things moved with surprising speed considering the usual snail's pace of most procedures relating to inmates and penitentiaries.

It was arranged that five days a week she would stay at a halfway house in Lake Placid under the supervision of officers of the New York State Prison system. Weekends she would return to the facility in which she'd originally been incarcerated. This schedule would begin in two weeks and would remain in effect for the foreseeable future.

Unless prisoner Bescardi blew it.

Unless prisoner Bescardi gave anyone cause to reconsider her work release status.

Unless prisoner Bescardi slipped and anyone found out the driving force behind her pleasant, congenial exterior.

The ex-doctor smiled. She had every intention of toeing the line, of kowtowing to every moronic pseudo-scientist granted the right to lord their freedom and their inferior intellect over her. She was certain to the depth and breadth and length of every superior cell in her body that one day all those who'd wronged her, or considered her less than the luminary she knew herself to be, would be forced to eat their words.

And if they choked on them, all the better.


	31. Stones of a Feather, Strung Together

The doctor and Rossi went their separate ways.

They would meet again at the hospital, but Rossi wanted to touch bases with Prentiss, and he wanted to let Millie know that their lunch plans were uncertain. At this point, _everything_ was uncertain, but best not to delve into the specifics. For now, tendering regrets about missing a meal would be enough.

He hoped the two women weren't too uncomfortable in each other's company…and, if they were, he hoped Prentiss hadn't gone wandering off into the wilderness in a quest to escape tea and nosiness. Or worse, gone poking about the town with her professionally curious need to learn secrets and to see into dark corners, especially now that the doctor had expressed his aversion to inquisitive outsiders.

He was surprised when he came within view of the B&B to see two figures on the wide porch, sitting close together, heads almost touching. He had to get nearer before he'd believe it was the proprietress and her latest collectable FBI agent. Millie was holding court in her favorite rocking chair, leaning forward, deep in the process of showing Miss Princess the mysteries of crocheting. The two were so occupied Rossi's approach went unnoticed until he was halfway up the front steps.

"…Dave!..." Millie looked up, then glanced at her wristwatch; an accessory that did double duty since she kept a handkerchief tucked firmly beneath the underside of the band. It fluttered pinkly in the wake of her hand's movement.

"Oh, goodness! The time has simply flown by this morning!" Millie's beaming smile spoke of how delighted she was that she could display her present company for all the neighbors to see. "Here you are and I haven't even _begun_ to plan lunch!"

Rossi noticed that her exclamations were loud enough to garner looks from the few pedestrians on the sidewalk. Millie never missed an opportunity to shine.

Prentiss stood, looking a little abashed at having been found not only engaged in such a quaint, domestic hobby as crocheting, but enjoying it. She looked down the street in the direction from which Rossi had come. A small line appeared between her brows.

"Where're the others? How's Hotch? Ana?"

Rossi realized his expression was still reflective of the disturbing discussion he'd had with the doctor regarding reincarnation. He took a breath and cleared his mind, as much as he could, of the subject. If anything was to be done about it, it wouldn't be here and it wouldn't be now. Other matters required his attention.

"Hotch is good. Everyone seems fine for the moment." Rossi hesitated. He didn't know if the doctor's request for discretion applied to passing on his quasi-diagnosis of the connection between Hotch and an unborn child, or if he just didn't want Prentiss digging any deeper into the town's business in general. He also didn't know if he should be the one to mention _anything_ pertaining to the doctor's practice in front of Millie. The woman was a curious combination of sly, social politics and naivety. Rossi decided to err on the side of caution.

"I just wanted to let you know we'll be at the hospital for a while. I'm on my way there now."

The women spoke simultaneously.

"Oh! Then you'll be missing lunch?" … "Great. I'll go with you."

Rossi gave an equally apologetic look to both. "I'm afraid you'll be without the whole group for lunch, Miss Millie. I'm sorry. But I'm sure we'll be along later. And, Prentiss…a word?" He tilted his head, inviting the agent to follow him down the steps for a more private discussion.

Emily untangled herself from the cream-colored string Millie had given her to learn the art of doily-making and followed Rossi down to the street, ready to accompany him.

"So what're they gonna do at the hospital? Are you sure everything's okay? Are _you_ okay?"

Rossi smiled back up at Millie who was watching the two agents. She'd actually been frustrated by Miss Princess all morning. The girl was a clam! A veritable clam! She couldn't pry information out of her about whatever secret mission had brought the FBI to town this time, nor could she wrest anything much of a personal nature from her. Millie was beginning to think she'd have to invent every last shred of juicy gossip that she'd be doling out and attributing to this visit all by herself!

"Prentiss, the doctor said he'd prefer to keep the people who witness whatever he's planning on doing to Hotch and Ana at the fewest number possible."

Emily's face fell, but not as much as Rossi had thought it would.

"You want me to stay here." The flat statement had a hint of regret, but he could tell she wasn't going to argue.

"I'm sorry. It's not how I'd have it, but I'm not the one calling the shots in this town." He saw a considering look come into Prentiss' eyes.

" 'S'okay. I get it. But I should probably call Garcia and the others. Can I tell them Hotch and Ana are good? Really?"

Rossi's shoulders drooped. "Physically, yes. They're fine. You can tell Morgan Hotch's all healed; not even a scar to show for the bullet wound. But for the rest…" He looked down the street toward the plain, little hospital building that Reid said looked like a fireworks display from all the psychic energy flaring through it. He sighed. "For the rest, I just don't know. They're planning on doing something to make sure Ana's ESP kid stays out of Hotch, but…I don't know. I don't have a solid grasp on anything that goes on in this place."

"You sure I can't come?" This time Prentiss asked more out of a desire to lend support, than one born of curiosity.

"Best not." Rossi read genuine concern in her eyes. "But I'm guessing, based on last time, that we'll know more soon. Last time it was just a matter of minutes. Faster than any surgical procedure, that's for sure. I've gotta get down there."

"Sure."

"You'll be okay?"

Prentiss nodded and gave Rossi a sorely needed smile to send him off. "Maybe something in this place is catching, but I have a feeling everything's gonna be fine. Really." She looked back up to where Millie lingered on the porch, trying to look as though she wasn't interested in the agents' private talk. "And besides, I'm just starting to get the hang of this crocheted-doily thing. It'd be something to pass the time on the jet. Ya know?"

Rossi returned her smile. He gave Millie a parting wave, and started walking toward the hospital where he hoped whatever happened wouldn't be as disturbing as watching Hotch's body heal, or as having to consider the migratory habits of the human soul.

xxxxxxx

Rossi was shown to the room where the others waited. He hesitated just inside the door, taking in the scene before him, trying to pick up on individual moods.

Ana and Reid were standing together, holding onto each other. By the look of it, they were engaged in their signature, silent communication. Both looked anxious. If Rossi had had to bet on it, he'd say they were reassuring themselves that they were in the best hands possible. Which brought him to the owners of those hands.

The doctor and the Palero priest were standing close, face to face. By gestures and expressions, Rossi assumed they were having a professional conversation about treatments, risks, prognoses. It could have been any consultation immediately preceding a medical procedure except for the fact that it took place in silence. The eerie presence of two couples engaged in telepathy just made poor Hotch stand out more in his isolation.

Rossi saw his friend standing at a table, frowning down at some objects lying on top. Hotch reached down and pushed one of the items around with his index finger. The movement caught Julio's eye. Hotch looked up at him.

"What's this?"

The Palero took a step closer. "It is the charm my _orishas_ say will help Ana. It will attract, entice her child's spirit. Keep it close like a favorite toy." When he saw Hotch's still wary look, he elaborated. "The beads are carved from sugilite, purple spirit quartz, lavender jade, amethyst, and lavender fluorite." After a beat of silence during which the necklace endured more of Hotch's suspicious glare, Julio had to address what he felt emanating from the Unit Chief.

"You dislike it. Why?"

Slowly, Hotch raised his head and fixed Rossi with a look of pure distaste.

"It's the same color as that damn unicorn."


	32. Psychic Hide and Seek

Having expressed his dislike of all things lavender, thanks to Rossi's flamboyant sense of humor and penchant for secreting plush toys in close proximity to his boss, Hotch was resigned to doing whatever they'd come to this odd little settlement to do.

The doctor stood in front of him and, head tilted back, inspected him through the bottom of half-moon lenses.

"I know you're tense, son. No one's going to be able to talk you out of that. But I need you as relaxed and open as possible. I see the more talk there is, the more stress you have. This isn't your world, and no matter how many times I tell you that this journey is not about monsters, you still react to the unknown as anyone would. With worry. With anxiety. So…" With a smooth swiftness that belied his age, he stepped forward and placed a palm flat against Hotch's forehead.

The worst moment for Rossi was seeing his friend's glance seek him out, fall on him at the last moment, as though asking for reassurance or help. It was only for a split second. The dark eyes widened and then, closed. With a sound hovering between a moan and a sigh, Hotch collapsed. His muscles released. His knees buckled.

The doctor must have clued Julio in on his plan. Either that, or they had done this dance many times before. The Palero was ready. He caught Hotch in muscular arms and, cradling him, lifted the lank body off its feet. The doctor took a seat on one of the two beds available, gesturing for Julio to lay Hotch next to him.

Rossi was reminded of the last time they'd visited. Once again, he saw the doctor pull his unconscious patient against him, propping up the limp body with his own. He wrapped his arms around Hotch and, for a few moments, seemed to be listening to some hidden rhythm peculiar to his medical method, audible only to his ESP-er hearing. When he looked up, it was directly into Rossi's eyes, although his words were intended for all present.

"I spoke truly when I told this child that there are no monsters here. This journey is about love and reclamation. But you must all be aware that love can be a monstrous force. Insidious and beautiful and deadly. As we move forward, be aware."

His gaze shifted to Ana. "I have never made this journey. I don't know what to expect. Mothers die without question for the sake of their children. But I'm telling you now, empath, do not forfeit your life even if it seems giving yourself to your child will help accomplish our goal. I will find ways to help, if required, although it would be far better if my energy did not enter the mix already in this man."

Ana nodded, her hand straying to her abdomen, the pregnancy so early she hadn't needed to make the move to maternity clothes yet. The thought of dying hadn't occurred to her. Since the moment she'd known a child was on its way, all of her mind, all of her spirit, had been geared toward life. _And if I die, then this child, its physical aspect anyway, dies with me….Spencer?..._ Her hand reached out to meet his, to grip it with desperate need.

_I'm here. If any life is to be given, it'll be mine. Understand?_

_NO!_ She made an effort to submerge sudden panic. _You will NOT do that! If you put yourself in harm's way, I'll…I'll…KILL you. Do YOU understand?!_

_Yes, ma'am._ The meek reply and the image his mind sent to hers of a puppy rolling over on its back, exposing its underbelly in faithful submission, had the effect Reid intended. Ana couldn't help the small gasp of laughter that escaped even as she felt tears building in her eyes.

The doctor's deep mental voice overrode the couple's communication. _Children! Neither of you is to make such a sacrifice. I know the impetuous nature of youth and its desire for quick solutions. I'm telling you now, that one of the reasons I broach this subject at all, is because of the limitless power, the dangers of love. For each other. For your child. For your friend. Already it works on you, planting the seeds of misguided martyrdom. Calm yourselves and double-think any action you are tempted to take. I'll be watching over you._

Ana rested her forehead against Spencer's shoulder, trying to aim her thoughts at him alone. _He's not telling us everything._

_Does he ever?_ Her husband's response carried equal measures of humor, reassurance and trust. She squeezed his hand in silent gratitude.

Julio had been watching the telepathic exchange, listening in without interrupting. But Rossi was feeling more and more an outsider, unable to participate, yet feeling his interests were as vested in this project as anyone's. Resigned, he took a place at the perimeter of the group. The doctor was watching him.

"I said this journey has everything to do with love, which can be monstrous in aspect, but can also defy all odds…and can return again and again throughout time." He shifted his position, lifting Hotch's body, preparatory to relinquishing his hold. "Come. Take this man who occupies a son's place in your heart. Hold him. He belongs to you just as the child belongs to them."

Rossi felt more than saw Reid's and Ana's quizzical glances, but he didn't hesitate. He took the doctor's place and pulled unconscious Hotch tightly to him, laying one hand along the side of the face that lolled against his chest. The doctor moved to the opposite side of the bed. He slid a hand inside the neckline of his patient's shirt and let it rest over his heart. Despite being glad for the contact with Hotch, Rossi voiced his concern.

"Is that enough for whatever you need to do? You're sure you don't need to hold him?"

"Physical touch is a powerful avenue for my type of medicine, and this is sufficient." He saw lingering doubt in Rossi's eyes. "Last time I needed to exert a great deal of influence to keep his mind sheltered from what hunted him. I believe finesse is the key this time; not brute force." The face creased in a thousand, kindly wrinkles. "This is sufficient. And when he wakes, he will be comforted by your arms."

"So he _will_ awaken."

"That is my intention. I'll do my best to see he does." The old man resumed a more solemn expression and turned toward Julio. _Your part in this is ready?_

In answer, the Palero picked up the charms he'd fashioned. He went to Ana and slipped the necklace in shades of purple and lavender spaced with tiny, gold beads, over her head. _To attract and keep._

He took Reid's wrist and slid a bracelet whose colors alternated purple with a dark, emerald green. _Also to attract, and to strengthen your ability to protect your women._

_Thank you, Julio._

The priest nodded. All he had left was the bracelet for Hotch. He knelt at the bedside and placed the string of carved ivory and gray stones near, but not touching, the unconscious man. Seeing Rossi's questioning look, Julio explained.

"This will not repel the spirit-child, but, once she is removed, it will mask what attracts her, what calls to her from his depths. At least, that is my hope." Taking one of Hotch's hands, he extended his other toward Ana. "We are ready."

Reid's wife licked dry lips, raised her chin and stepped forward. He right hand grasped the Palero's as her left released Spencer's. When she felt the light pull, she went to her knees in front of Hotch, midway between Rossi and the priest. She remembered this tableau from last time. Only she hadn't been the one expected to make things right. _Oh, God, how did we wind up here again?_

_Concentrate, child. _ She heard the sound of the sea and all its ancient secrets in his voice. A sound that told of beginnings and endings, and of a natural order that would let all things find their rightful place, if only they were allowed. _Find your little one. It's time._

Mindful of the strictures that had been placed on her contact with Hotch, Ana held her breath and moved into his psyche as softly as the beat of a butterfly's wing. She would have cringed had she ever heard of chaos theory and the butterfly effect. But she hadn't. So she didn't.

xxxxxxx

_I remember this place…. Hotch…. Aaron._

The doctor, Julio, Rossi and Reid saw the barest trace of a smile touch Ana's lips; saw her relax and breathe evenly.

_But this is different. So quiet._

_That's me, empath. I'm holding him in a peaceful state. It'll be less distracting for you. Focus. Find your child._

She cast about, looking, listening, sending her antennae out, hoping it would detect something familiar…maybe an echo of herself or of Spencer. Nothing. The first shimmer of fear drifted through her. _What if I can't do this?_

_Shhhhhh. Focus._

_I AM! There's nothing!_

_Don't try so hard. There is a natural connection._

Hotch stirred. Rossi gave him as much of a hug as he dared. He didn't want to disturb or dislodge anything. He had no idea if movement was a distraction when psychic forces were in play. The doctor's hand exerted a firmer touch against Hotch's chest, pressing him deeper into Rossi's embrace. The unconscious man relaxed.

Ana tried to think of all the things Spencer had told her about his travels in other's minds. There was a time, at the very beginning, when he'd found what he said was the key to moving at will, to locating what he sought. She remembered the feeling of elated surprise wafting off of him when he'd told her, but it was so long ago and so much had happened since then.

_Damn it! I can recall his feelings, but not what he said?! Stupid! I need his memory._

_Shhhhhh. Focus._

Again, Ana stilled herself, reaching out with everything she had. And stopped. _No. It's not about reaching outward. It's about opening to what's out there. It's about issuing an invitation, not a command. Maybe._

She stopped directing her search. She allowed herself to drift and even let herself enjoy where she was; the peace and ordered sanity, the gentility and nobility that was Hotch.

Reid was the only one standing on the fringes. He ached to go to his wife, but shielded his desire. He didn't want to impact whatever was happening by distracting her with his emotions, or by disturbing the doctor or Julio when Hotch, Ana, and Melinda…_our daughter!_... should be the center of attention.

Ana was making progress, but it wasn't enough.

She'd been right about the less-is-more approach. She could sense another presence. It wasn't Hotch or the doctor or Julio. It _had _ to be the child. But she still couldn't find it. She felt her frustration building and struggled to keep her emotions level.

The old doctor monitored the mother-to-be's battle. _Empaths are by nature emotional creatures. She might not have the discipline nor the requisite gifts to find this nascent essence._ He began to wonder at his decision to send her in alone. Still, he wanted to give her more time. _But this isn't good for Aaron. The longer she remains, the more residual energy she exudes, especially with the effort she is expending. It could end making him an even more powerful magnet for the child._

Then he felt her failing in her struggle to control her emotions. In desperation, reflexively, she reached out to the ocean of calm that was closest, that might answer her need and let her negate her natural tendencies to feel too much. As the doctor and Julio both sensed her about to wrap herself around Aaron's soul where it rested, beckoning with its serenity and quiet, both reacted. Her touch in such a state of need could alter him, unbalance him at his core. It was a chance they couldn't take and hadn't foreseen.

Rossi saw the doctor's eyes fly open in alarm. Julio's doing likewise a heartbeat later. Even he, without ESP-er talent, knew something was about to go very, very wrong.

_Telepath! Go to her! NOW!_

Reid didn't need to be told twice. He nearly tackled Ana in his eagerness to join her.

_Where you go, I go, too…_


	33. Inner Power, Borrowed Vision

_ANA!_

She heard him. It was like a rush of cool water across sunbaked stone. Slaking. Strengthening.

_Spencer! Help me! I can't do this alone!_

_You're not alone. I'm here. _

He didn't bring the easy peace that had beckoned to her from within Hotch's psyche; the calm that was in part due to the old doctor's influence. What her husband brought was fierce and protective and so overwhelmingly full of love, it overrode her panic more completely than the still serenity she'd been about to access and pull from Hotch's soul.

She could sense the doctor and Julio. There was relief that she hadn't drawn calm from Hotch, but there was also a sense of urgency. This search had already gone on too long. Speed was essential, even if she didn't really understand why.

_What do you need, Ana? Why did they send me after you?_ Reid could feel her masterful effort to pull herself back from the brink of panic, to focus on the task at hand.

_I need your memory, your sight._ She paused, catching a stray filament of thought from the Palero. _What they didn't tell us, Spencer…I think it was because they were protecting me from having to worry about time. There's something really bad about using too much of it to do this. I think Hotch's going to suffer, or maybe Melinda…maybe both. We have to hurry!_

He felt her emotions begin to spike again. _What do you need to know? If I've got the answer, I'll just tell you!_

_It doesn't work that way. I'm supposed to discover it on my own, with effort. I'm supposed to earn the answer. I can't explain any better._ She emitted a small pulse of apology for not having the eloquence or the time to delve deeper into why he couldn't hand her what she needed. She had to earn, to learn.

_Whatever you need, Ana. Take my memory. Take my sight. I'm yours. Take all of me. Just…TAKE…_

The landscape of her husband's mind opened before her, offering itself. Ana searched through it, trying to match up her own faded recollections with Spencer's perfect, eidetically preserved ones. She knew he'd been seeking Hotch's lost memories of being drugged and abandoned by Carol Bescardi.

_How did he do it? How did he find what he sought? And how much time do I have left? At some point are they going to call it quits? Pull me out of here?_

She loved her child. It was unthinkable to leave without her. That was not an option. But she also loved Hotch. She sensed there was danger to him every second she was engaged in this hunt through his psyche. Her presence was changing him. So was Spencer's. She dreaded the possibility that one or the other, Hotch or Melinda, might be altered, damaged irretrievably.

_No! I love them both._

She felt her empath's heart swell with that love. It fueled her resolve. It was a boundless, depthless resource of immeasurable power. As soon as she felt the strength of it, she surrendered to it; begged it, trusted it to show her what she needed.

And there it was before her. Whether by irony or happy coincidence, the answer to be found in Spencer's mind echoed the method she'd just discovered for herself. The old doctor had given her the key, but not the means to turn it. _That_ she was required to find on her own in order to claim the ability, the knowledge, as hers.

_When Spencer was hunting for Hotch's memory, what mattered was within himself …it was his own desire to help. He loves Hotch, so what he needed in order to help Hotch found __**him**__. _

_And when Spencer was lost, he thought of the people he loved; all those he'd leave behind if he couldn't find a way back. And the way back…came to him. And the doctor even said it! He said this was a journey about love. If it's inside, if it's part of the seeking, part of the quest, it attracts what it needs. Power in and of itself. He said it! That's IT!_

Reid was concentrating so hard on making himself available to Ana, he didn't follow her step-by-step, thought-by-thought progress. All he felt was a burst of energy that was confidence and revelation and an elated feeling that touched a corresponding heartstring in him. And then Ana's burst of energy used the sympathetic vibration deep within him to increase itself. His physical body felt a prickling like static electricity roaming over his skin. He knew she'd found a way, but maybe she still needed more power. Reid laid himself bare.

_Take all of me, Ana. Do it!_

_**STOP! **_

The enveloping presence of that command halted the headlong rush Ana and Reid were about to make. As they teetered on the brink, it froze them in place for a heartbeat.

_**Telepath, you are NOT to give all of yourself. If a life is to be forfeit, it will NOT be yours. Empath, you have discovered new power. Now, discover its limits. Or lack of them.**_

Ana focused inward. All the love of a new life and of the one who had helped her create it was there. She didn't need more power than that. She didn't need to deplete Spencer. Looking inward, she felt a peculiar thrill of recognition. Love of the physical life growing within her pulled her closer to the psychic aspect of that life. She could feel its presence nearby.

_My child's spirit is here!_

But she still couldn't reach it, grasp it. And it wasn't aware enough to heed her call. She had been drawn instinctively, by virtue of the love she felt for it, but that was all. The child-psyche still needed to be gathered, picked up and brought away.

There was still something Ana needed from her husband.

_I need your sight, Spencer._

_Take it._

Reid had shared his vision with her from time to time, letting her see the splendid, ethereal beauty that auras could create. But this was different. She didn't share. She took. He understood she was desperate, fighting for all of them…Hotch, Melinda, him, herself…It still scared him when his sight, inner and outer, left him. He realized his wife had no idea how powerful she'd become. No idea what she'd done.

_For Melinda. This I give willingly. For my daughter, my Melinda._

xxxxxxxxx

Rossi had seen Reid dive for Ana.

He knew something unexpected had altered the doctor's original plan of action. He kept a tight hold on Hotch and let the fingers of one hand move almost imperceptibly to his friend's neck. To the pulse point. He needed the comfort of feeling Aaron's life beating under his touch.

When Reid's eyes flew open and all that was visible were blank, wet, white orbs, laced with threads of red, Rossi felt his own pulse stutter, his own ability to continue as part of this…falter.

Reid gasped. Then, mercifully, lids descended over the sightless eyes.

Rossi pressed his hands tighter against Hotch and felt an irresistible need to revert to the training of his upbringing. Compartmentalizing wasn't enough.

Rossi prayed.

xxxxxxxx

Ana took what she needed and when she looked for the presence that was so close she could feel it, she finally saw.

With Reid's vision, she saw what she knew was the very beginning of their child's psychic aura. It was lavender shot with delicate sprays of gold, shimmering like the surface of a sun-kissed lake. Somehow she knew these were the colors of youth and innocence. She knew what she was seeing would change over time as the psyche of her baby matured.

_This is special. This is only for her and only for now. I love…I love…I love…_

Effortlessly, almost anticlimactically, the essence moved closer to what loved it. Close enough and visible enough for its mother to pick it up. In effect, Ana held her child in psychic hands.

_I've got her! Spencer, we did it!_

_Then let's go home._

She could tell something was wrong.

_Spencer?_

_Let's just __**go**__. We need to get out!_

Ana looked at the aura now nestled in the center of her own psyche and realized…

_I took your sight! My God, are you blind? Again? Like last time?_

Before Reid could answer, his wife understood another facet of the wisdom the man who called himself a doctor had tried to impart to her.

_It's so simple, really. To allow all things to be what they are, to happen as they must. To flow where they belong, rather than trying to exert control over them. So simple, but so difficult on a daily basis. I can believe, appreciate the idea here, but elsewhere? Just accept whatever might happen, knowing it comes from a current that contains all things and moves them to their proper place? To live with such trust? _

Her smile was contrite. _That wise, I'm not._

She looked at her child's aura. _It'll be months before I see you again. And I might never see you quite like this. This vision is your father's. I love you. I love him. I love…That's all I need. This gift was only mine to borrow…If I close my 'eyes' and let this sight flow away, it'll return to where it belongs. I won't control. I'll accept. This time, anyway._

The sight passed from her. For a moment she mourned its loss. But only for a moment. When she felt her husband's complete, sighted psyche surround her, shield her; when she knew that even if she didn't have his gifts, they were still hers because he devoted them to her, Ana smiled.

_Everything is where it should be now. Take us home, Spencer._

xxxxxxx

Rossi watched the young couple open their eyes. He was more than relieved that Reid's had returned to their usual golden brown, although they did look a little bloodshot.

The doctor and Julio were next. Their smiles and the congratulatory looks they exchanged gave him hope this journey had been successful, despite the moment of alarm.

The Palero priest grabbed the ivory-gray bracelet and slipped it onto Hotch's wrist, sliding it as far up his arm as possible, as though he already knew this man didn't like wearing accessories and would 'accidentally' let it fall off, if given the slightest opportunity.

The doctor remained still, searching Hotch's face.

"Is it over? Is everyone alright?" Rossi detected an atmosphere of relief, but he wanted to hear the words from the man who'd set this whole process in motion.

"I'm making sure." After a moment, the doctor patted Hotch's chest and slipped his hand out of the man's shirt. "I think he'll be fine. As long as we all leave him alone. Psychically, that is."

When Hotch stirred in his arms, Rossi cinched them tighter.

The last thing Hotch remembered was standing, face to face with the doctor. Now he shifted his eyes around warily, taking note of his present position as well as everyone else's. When he looked up and saw Rossi hovering over him, holding him, he blinked.

"Are we good? Is everyone okay? The baby? Ana?"

"Everyone's fine, Aaron. It worked."

Hotch grunted and sat up with a little help from Rossi. He looked at the string of beads circling his wrist and sighed. "We have to wear these things again."

Julio grinned. During the procedure he hadn't been able to keep from taking a little peek at memories of some of the latest adventures of the FBI agents. "There are worse things to wake up with, Mr. Hotchner…Unicorns, for instance…"


	34. Children Lost and Found

Slowly, all the participants in reclaiming the nascent psyche shook off the residual disorientation of the experience.

"It's really over? And it won't happen again?" Hotch addressed the doctor directly. He seemed to need more reassurance than the others. From his perspective, he'd been standing one minute…lying down the next. He hadn't felt any trauma this time. There'd been no desire to hide, to nestle into someone's arms for comfort when he woke. Although grateful for the relative ease of this experience, he also didn't have a sense of anything having been accomplished.

The doctor understood. Taking Hotch's shoulders, he gave him an affectionate shake. "Everything and everyone is in its proper, rightful place. As to whether or not this off-track, psychic wandering happens again…" He released one shoulder. Gripping Hotch's wrist, he brought it up to display the beaded bracelet wrapped around it. "…_that_, in part, is up to you."

Hotch sounded resigned. "I won't take it off." He saw a flicker of doubt in both the doctor's and Julio's eyes. "Seriously. I'll wear it in the shower. I'll wear it at the gym. Promise."

"Good boy." The doctor released his wrist, patted his shoulder, and turned away.

_Doctor?_

Reid and Ana were the most shaken this time around. Ana had been the most active participant, yet she also seemed the most peaceful; almost basking in the afterglow of the experience. Reid, however, seemed nervous. He had questions.

_Would you mind if we spoke in private before leaving?_

The old man cocked a humorous brow at the young agent. _ I believe telepathy is about as private as one can get, yes?_

Reid ducked his head and grinned. _The way __**you**__ do it, it is. We're not that proficient…yet._

_Of course. Why don't we go to my office…just you and the empath, or would you like Julio to be present as well?_

_Just us? If that's okay?_

The doctor nodded, stopping to glance at the table littered with the Palero priest's bits and pieces from which he'd built his amulets. He shook his head and gave his colleague a respectful look. _Before you came here, I never considered the power of providing tangible symbols for patients to carry away with them. You have widened my horizons, Julio. You make me wonder what else I've been missing while cloistered here in this sanctuary._

As the doctor reached the door, Hotch spoke, halting him before he passed through.

"You're _sure_ everything's okay now, doctor?"

Rossi studied his friend's face. "What's wrong, Hotch? What's bothering you?"

Before he could respond, the doctor turned back into the room, coming to stand before the two agents. The weathered eyes had a discerning look that softened as they examined Hotch. The voice held a sorrowful note. "Ahhh. Aaron. I see." Knowing the touch that would comfort, he raised a hand to lay against Hotch's face, tracing light arcs over the cheekbone with a gnarled thumb.

His eyes remained on his patient, but the words seemed to be meant for Rossi. "It's the idea of losing a child. He knows what it's like to think one's son has been taken. He doesn't want the young couple to know such loss, even before they've had the joy of parenthood."

Hotch's eyes remained fixed on the doctor's. Rossi answered for him.

"His son was in danger once, but he saved him. They're together now."

The old head nodded as though seeing actual events playing out. "Yes. But a great price was paid. The mother…" He dropped his hand to Hotch's shoulder, gave it a squeeze, and turned to speak directly to Rossi.

"Thinking a son is lost only to find him again…a greater gift is hard to imagine."

Rossi had no doubt he was being reminded, in a very discreet manner, of their talk concerning reincarnation. He kept silent. He wasn't sure if telling Hotch the doctor's beliefs would ever be the right thing to do. But this exchange made it clear that the old man was still hoping he would.

The doctor sounded more brisk, businesslike, as he once more moved toward the hallway and his other duties. "I believe everything and everyone are back on track. Don't worry, Aaron. And remember, you're staying at my home. If you like, we can talk more this evening."

Hotch nodded and almost smiled. "Thank you, doctor. For everything."

As he exited, his parting thoughts found Reid and Ana. _I'll be glad to see you both in my office. Give me a few minutes to check on my other patients, then meet me there._

Julio was packing away the items he hadn't used in creating his amulets. Something about the lean, grim-faced man who was the leader of the FBI agents challenged what the Palero considered his lesser, inner _orishas_…the ones who enjoyed tweaking authority…the ones who employed mischievous, but not harmful means…the ones who rarely got to come out and play.

He stirred the lavender jade beads with one finger. They hadn't been imbued with any magical properties yet. For now, they were merely beads. Poker-faced, he considered the amusement value of slipping some of them into one of Mr. Hotchner's pockets. The unicorn story he'd seen in the man's memory coupled with the agent's humorless sobriety made it tempting to tease him a little.

Just as the Palero gave in and palmed a few of the most brilliantly colored pieces, planning to innocently bump into Mr. Hotchner on his way out, the doctor's sharp, telepathic reprimand reached him.

_Julio! Behave! If I find even one lavender bauble in his clothes when that man undresses at my house tonight, I'll make sure Millie feeds you nothing but shredded coconut for the next three months! Is that clear?_

_Yes, doctor. Very clear._

Julio Ruiz was a good man, an honest man, a man of sterling character. Hotch remained lavender-free. The priest slipped the beads into Rossi's pocket instead.

xxxxxxxxx

It had only been an hour or so; in fact, there had only been enough time to conference call the rest of the team, and to finish crocheting half a doily…her first...when Prentiss looked up and saw Rossi and Hotch coming down the street toward the B&B.

Putting the tools of her new hobby aside, she stood, grinning widely. Hotch's gait had its normal smooth rhythm. And his shoulders were squared, not hunched in pain as they'd been last time she'd seen him.

_That old guy must be everything they say he is. Amazing._

Her grin faded when she realized Reid and Ana weren't following. Prentiss was down the steps and striding to meet the two men before they even realized they'd been sighted. Mindful of the possibility of curious ears tuned to the conversation of strangers in a small town, she waited until she was face to face with her co-workers.

"Reid? Ana?"

"They're fine, Emily." Rossi saw the concern in the dark eyes waver, but fail to recede. "Really. Everything worked out just as they'd hoped. Reid and Ana stayed behind to talk with the doctor. They'll be along later and I think I can promise we'll all be having dinner together." He glanced at Hotch. "Unless you have other plans, Aaron? I know you're not staying here, but I bet Millie would welcome you to her table." His grin was sly. "She has fond memories of you, Aaron."

Hotch winced. For a moment he could almost feel fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his boxers. But he did recall Millie and Rossi in the kitchen together had produced some delicious results.

"I don't think the doc plans on feeding me. So, if it's okay with her, I _would_ like to eat with you guys."

xxxxxxxxxx

Millie was indoors washing up a few dishes. A very few.

Her luncheon table had consisted of only herself and Miss Princess, but she had turned her initial disappointment to an advantage.

"Lemons into lemonade," she had muttered to herself as she'd prepared iced tea and finger sandwiches for two, to be served on the porch.

_At least everyone'll see us spending nearly the whole day together. Crocheting, talking, eating. _Millie's slightly cracked rosebud lips quirked upwards at the corners. _And after __**that**__, they'll all believe any kind of stories I care to tell about secrets and women spies._

The light lunch had gone well. She'd waved at passersby and called out to several of her circle who had previously voiced doubts about her connections to worldly intrigue. Now they'd have to believe the evidence of their own eyes. And with no less than _three_ of Miss Princess' cards in her possession, Millie knew her star in local society would just keep rising.

When she heard footsteps thumping across her porch and entering her foyer, she hastened to dry her hands to go and see who it might be. Her joyous welcome of Mr. Rosie …_Dave!_... and Mr. Hutchiner…_their boss!_... was genuine. And when Mr. Hutchiner, whom she remembered as shy and jumpy when it came to personal hygiene, asked if he could stay for dinner, she thought things couldn't get any better. They assured her the young people would be along soon. There would be a full house, but no quandary relating to sleeping arrangements, since Mr. Hutchiner would be staying with the old doctor.

And when…_Dave!_...offered to help with preparations in the kitchen, Millie's heart nearly flew out of her aproned bosom with happiness.

She didn't know what the medical issue had been this time that occasioned this visit from the FBI, but, all in all, things couldn't have turned out better.


	35. Past Imperfect

Reid and Ana knew where the doctor's private office was from their previous visit.

They waited patiently until he arrived. When he did, he wasted no time on pleasantries, but chose to dive right into what was troubling the young telepath.

_You both learned some of what I call 'life truths' in our last venture, and your child is now as safe as any unborn can be. But you're concerned. For the future and for the past as well. Shall I continue, or would you like to tell me yourselves?_

Reid lifted his wife's hand and touched his lips to her fingers. _Ladies first._

_Doctor, would it be possible…could I…_ She took a breath. _When my time comes, would you deliver our baby?_

The old man's smile activated every mirthful wrinkle he possessed. _I would be honored, empath._ But almost immediately his expression grew thoughtful, serious. _This child is exceptional already. In light of what it has shown itself capable of doing in utero, I believe it would be a mistake to allow it to be born anyplace else. You should probably come to me several weeks early, if you can manage it._

The couple exchanged looks. _That means we'll need to be apart, Spencer. You can't just leave your job, your team, for that long…can you?_

_No, I can't. Damn. _Reid sighed. They hadn't considered past the point of securing this very elite doctor's services.

Reid already hated the time he had to spend away from his wife. He'd never thought he'd ever find someone with whom he could build a family. Now that he had, he begrudged missing even a second of the experience. He looked into Ana's hopeful eyes.

_Let me talk to Hotch…see what we can work out._

She nodded. The main prize was theirs already: the doctor best suited to their needs was willing. The rest would just have to work itself out. And after just having embraced the concept of trusting in, for lack of a better expression, the 'rightness' of life's underlying current that would, in time, move all things to their proper place, Ana decided to adopt a wait-and-see attitude.

_That was your concern about the future. _The doctor was clearly addressing Reid directly. _Now tell me about the concern for what lies in your past._

Reid swallowed. He felt Ana's hand increase its pressure on his in token of support and sympathy.

_My mother. It's about my mother._ He watched as the doctor's face transformed. Its wrinkled topography could be so expressive of happiness. Now, Reid saw it display an equal depth of regretful sorrow.

_Your mother is a paranoid schizophrenic and you wonder if, given other circumstances, she might have avoided mental illness. You wonder if your ESP-er gifts come from her. You wonder about the genes you have already bequeathed to your child._

For once Reid was glad to have his thoughts invaded, information pulled from him. Even if the communication wasn't verbal, it was hard to express. It was also hard to feel the doctor's pity.

_I'm sorry, telepath. It is possible that your mother is gifted as you are; that you inherited some of your abilities from her. It is also possible that at some point, if her brain had been tweaked in a different direction, she would not have descended into madness. There is no way I can offer you a more decisive answer without examining her myself. The same goes for your hope that even now she could be helped, repaired. _

_Even if it were possible, you must ask yourself if it would be the kindest thing to do. Your mother is not young. She is settled in her life and is accustomed to her support system. If you try to oust her from it, be sure it is for her sake, not yours. You blame yourself for having consigned her to a sanatorium. If you take action now on her behalf, be sure your motive is her betterment, and not to assuage your guilt._

_As for how your heredity may affect your child, I see nothing at present to cause concern. However, the only way to ensure she is free from all influences that could adversely affect her would be to control every aspect of her life and formation. _The old man shook his head.

_You would deprive her of childhood and imprison her with your protectiveness instead. That in itself would be an adverse effect on many levels. _His expression brightened. _But this child you bring into the world will have more guidance than any other ESP-er I've known to be born. The worst part of growing up gifted is the isolation, the inability to be oneself without incurring fear or derision or worse. With gifted parents to understand her, this child is already extremely fortunate._

The elderly man's full smile returned. _In light of your own experiences, I think you will be the best parents such a child could hope to have._

By the time Reid and Ana left the hospital, both were as worry-free as it was possible to be when confronted with first-time parenthood.

And Reid was sure when he looked at his wife he could now see the faintest glimmer of lavender deep within her signature aura of misty gold.

xxxxxxxx

Prentiss couldn't get over Hotch's transformation. She'd seen his bruising and the bandage over the bullet wound in his leg. Curiosity was eating her alive. She waited until dinner was over and people were drifting apart to corner him.

"Hotch?"

"Hmmmmm?"

"How exactly did that old guy heal you?"

Hotch had been headed for the porch. He stopped and gave Prentiss a very slow, very potent glare. "That _old guy_, Prentiss?"

_Uh oh._ One sentence and she'd already managed to sensitize him to the subject matter. She'd had no idea her boss held the doctor in such high regard. He'd never spoken of him outside of this little conclave as far as she knew. And the way Morgan had talked of this place, she'd read more of skepticism than respect. Plus creepiness. Morgan was big on creepiness whenever he referenced his experiences here.

"Sorry. I guess I don't know what else to call him. Come to think of it, I've never heard anyone say his name. Do you know it? His name?"

Hotch was very still for a moment, remembering the privilege accorded him by the old man when he'd confided that he'd once been known as 'Nathaniel.' But he'd also said the name had no meaning for him or anyone living. His occupation defined who he was, rather than a name. Something Hotch could relate to.

"Just call him 'Doctor.' Okay?"

"Sure. Sure."

The Unit Chief headed for the front door again, his mind already focused on getting some rest before they returned to Quantico the next day. But Prentiss wasn't easily discouraged. It was one of the things Hotch liked about her. Most of the time.

"But Hotch? He really did heal you? It's not some kind of…I don't know…_hypnotism _or something? You're really bruise- and wound-free?"

Hotch gave the breathy, exasperated sigh he reserved to let people know he was being exceptionally patient. "Yes, he really healed me." He looked at the alpha female of his team and softened. He could understand her reluctance to believe such a thing without proof. He would, if he hadn't been the one whose body had been restored.

"I don't know how he does it, Prentiss, but it's not a trick. It's real."

"Can I see?"

Hotch's brows rose. He almost smiled.

"Goodnight, Prentiss."

xxxxxxxxx

Hotch reached the doctor's house only to find it empty. The old man was still at work.

The door didn't even have a lock, so he went in and readied himself for bed. As he settled in, Hotch realized he wasn't the least bit sleepy. His grin was rueful. That alone was a sure sign that baby Reid was no longer exerting any influence on him. He sighed. He'd miss the quality of sleep the child's psyche had provided.

_I'll just have to get used to doing with less again. And to Rossi telling me I look like hell after really bad nights._

Thinking of Rossi brought him back to the comment the doctor had made earlier about finding a child alive when you'd thought he was lost, gone forever. Hotch stretched out on the bed, laced his hands behind his head and did what had become a sad routine; what was frequently the cause of his sleeplessness. He thought of the day they'd lost Hayley. He'd been unsure about Jack. Until the moment he'd held him in his arms, he'd had to consider the possibility that the Reaper had destroyed his son, too.

Hotch was so deep within the memory of the worst hours of his life, he didn't hear the light tap at the bedroom door. He pulled himself back to the present when he realized the doctor was standing at his bedside. But he was completely unprepared for the old man's words.

"Oh, Aaron. I think you need to say it out loud before you can even begin to get free of it."

Hotch turned surprised, but guarded eyes on his host. He was about to claim he had no idea what he meant, but the compassion that he saw in the ancient eyes reminded him how futile it was to try and deny or dissemble around this man. Still, Hotch wasn't sure he was ready to give voice to one of his deepest wounds. And he was ashamed for this man to know of it.

The doctor sat on the edge of the bed and waited. He could see the pain and turmoil in Aaron's dark eyes that were caught between wanting to evade and wanting to confide.

"Aaron, I already know everything there is to know about you. I've gone through your past and your present and even a little bit of your future. There's nothing you can say that will surprise me." The steady, old hand rested on Hotch's shoulder, kneading lightly, trying to convey permission to be weak and human to this man who felt he always had to present a façade of tough control and competence.

"You said it yesterday, Aaron: you can breathe here, because no one's expecting you to lead, to have all the answers. Let me help you, son. I already know what you're afraid to say."

Hotch licked newly dry lips. "But it was a terrible thing for me to think, even if it was only for a moment. I can't…I never meant…" The eyes were filling, threatening to spill over.

"Aaron, you can tell me. You need to say it, to get it out. Otherwise, it will continue to grow inside you. It was a momentary flash when it happened, and see how large it has become. You've fed it with yourself. Let it go, son. It's time."

The tears won, tracking salt down the temples, dampening the pillow case.

"I loved Hayley."

"I know, son."

"I would have given my life for her, if I could have."

"I know."

"But for just a second, when I picked Jack up for the first time in _months_…I thought 'He's mine. He's all mine. Hayley can't keep him from me anymore.' And I was glad she couldn't."

The doctor pulled this damaged man up to a sitting position and held him close, caressing the back that began to shudder with sorrow and misplaced self-loathing.

"Missing your son, wanting him, doesn't mean you were glad his mother was dead, Aaron." The back under his hands continued to heave. "I know what happened. And I know your thoughts. You've never once been glad that your son's mother was gone. But you've taken the weight of the entire tragedy and boiled it down into that one fleeting moment when you were happy to hold your child and knew _no one_ would keep you from him ever again. Aaron, you aren't just taking blame that isn't yours…you're denying yourself the joy of winning back your fatherhood."

The doctor rocked this man he cared for, who was capable of the strongest love for others, but accorded himself the deepest hate.

"You have to let this go, Aaron. You have to let this go."

xxxxxxxxx

Hotch looked like hell the next morning. Or so Rossi told him.

It made the glare he gave the older agent just that much more intense when Rossi took Hotch's hand, held it palm up and dribbled a handful of lavender beads into it, one piece at a time.

"Unicorn droppings," Rossi said, sealing his fate in the world of payback...a la Hotchner.


	36. A Matter of Faith

Months passed in as normal a fashion as could be expected.

Ana…increased. The Reids found a bigger apartment and began stocking it with baby supplies. Hotch and J.J. donated what they could from their own respective journeys into parenthood to ease the financial strain on the young family.

Rossi checked daily to be sure Hotch was still wearing the amulet he'd been given. He also kept a wary eye out for any pranking the younger man might have in the works. So far, nothing drew his attention. But Rossi remembered last time. Hotch was a patient, devious adversary in the practical joke department. Years might pass and he still wouldn't be completely safe. Even though leery, he was perversely proud, too. He appreciated, even as he dreaded, Aaron's imagination and talent for strategizing. It had an Italianate elegance to it.

Consulting continued to be a large part of their daily duties, and cases were worked to the best conclusions the team could manage.

Then one case hit the team particularly hard, especially Hotch.

Children were being abducted . The photos of the victims showed the unsub's preference for dark-haired, dark-eyed, six-year-old boys. Then the abductions turned into murders. The small, pitiful, mutilated bodies appeared, dumped under cover of darkness, and the disbelief that anyone would do such a thing, where other children were likely to find them. School yards, parks, residential streets, daycare centers, front lawns with toys or bikes left out, marking the houses as those sheltering children. Each grisly find twisted its way deeper into the surrounding communities, crying out almost audibly: "There are _no_ safe places. _This_ is what's real. _This_ is what happens to children in the end."

Rossi watched Hotch grow grimmer and gaunter in the space of a few days. When they finally found the unsub, it was like having a wolf on a slender, inadequate lead. They burst into the deceptively pretty, isolated, house on the outskirts of town. The latest victim was in the process of being beaten. When Hotch saw the bruises and the hopeless, vacant look in the child's dark eyes…the wolf slipped its leash. Morgan and Rossi together were unable to restrain the lunging fury that took over their boss. Prentiss and Reid removed the unsub and the boy while Hotch raged against the hands trying to hold onto him. It was J.J. who finally got through. With no regard for personal safety, she slipped under Morgan's arm as he tried to use his heavier weight to control his boss, and took Hotch's face in her hands.

"Aaron. Aaron. He's safe, Aaron. He's safe. No one can hurt him now. He's safe. Aaron. Hotch. He's safe." Her soft voice accomplished what the men's shouts couldn't. The eyes filled with a crazed kind of hate fastened on this woman who continued to speak in soothing tones. Morgan and Rossi felt the body stop trying to break free. When they eased up on him, Hotch stood panting, refusing to meet any of the eyes watching him.

"I'm okay, I'm okay. I'm sorry." It was all he said. Looking shamefaced, he left the house, needing to assure himself that the little victim was being cared for.

He remained quiet on the trip back to Quantico, electing to sit alone in the back of the jet.

Morgan and Rossi exchanged looks. They were the only ones to whom Hotch had ever mentioned his abusive childhood. Being profilers, the others couldn't help putting the pieces together for themselves, but the subject was never brought up. Respect for Hotch's privacy came first.

On that flight home, Rossi had time to consider once again the words of the strange old man who believed souls could shatter and reform. _Maybe I should look into the reincarnation thing. Not to prove or disprove, but to see if there's anything there that could help Hotch._ Based on his behavior at the crime scene, Rossi knew his friend's childhood injuries still hurt.

xxxxxxx

He gave Hotch a little time to cool off. When it felt right, he approached him.

Walking into the Unit Chief's office at the end of a blessedly uneventful day of paperwork, Rossi was glad to see his friend was packing up his briefcase, ready to go home.

"You on your way to get Jack?"

Hotch shook his head. "He's got a sleepover with a new friend from school. I'm on my own tonight."

"Good. Let me buy you a drink."

Hotch hesitated, studying the latch on his briefcase with unwarranted concentration. "If you're worried about the other day when I lost control over that guy beating up the kid, it won't happen again."

"I just want some company. I'm on my own tonight, too. C'mon, let me buy you a drink."

Hotch looked a little wary when he accepted. Rossi almost felt guilty for hiding his true motive, but reasoned that what he wanted to do was best approached obliquely and in small steps.

He followed Hotch home and let him change out of his suit. Rossi drove as the two men headed out in search of a likely-looking watering hole. After a few minutes, Rossi glanced at his passenger.

"Do you mind if I make a couple of stops before we go for that drink?"

"No. 'Course not."

But when they stopped at a small floral shop about to close and Rossi ran in, Hotch began to wonder what the real plan for the evening was. The older agent emerged with two bouquets: one of daisies and baby's breath, the other of roses.

"Dave, what's going on? Where or who are we going to see that we're bringing flowers?" Hotch's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "This isn't a setup for a double date, is it?"

When Rossi replied, his voice was somber. It erased all thoughts of any subterfuge as light-hearted as dating. "No, Aaron. I need to go somewhere and I just thought it would be nice to have company for once. I hope you don't mind."

"I'll go with you wherever you want. But I wish you'd tell me what's going on."

"Here. Hold these." Rossi placed the bouquets in Hotch's lap. As he watched the long-fingered hands cradle them, doing their best not to crush the fragile blooms, he relented. "I need to visit James and Carolyn. I'd like it if you'd come with me."

Several seconds of silence fell into the space between them.

"Okay. I don't understand, but…okay."

"Thank you, Aaron. You're a good boy."

Hotch almost chuckled. "Careful, Dave. You're starting to sound like that old doc."

The chill that ran up Rossi's spine and nestled in to stay at the base of his neck was somehow completely appropriate to both situation and destination.

xxxxxxxx

Once parked in the cemetery lot, Rossi relieved Hotch of the bouquets. Carrying them in careful hands, he led the way through the peaceful, green field of stones. He was chastising himself for buying into what amounted to fireside tales and superstition when he realized Hotch wasn't following him anymore.

The Unit Chief had been keeping a discreet, quiet, few paces to the rear, puzzled, but supportive of his friend in this request to visit the graves of people he didn't know. And then he wasn't there.

Rossi stopped, searching a landscape whose still, sculpted figures gave cover to any living form as long as it didn't move much. Then he saw Hotch. He was sitting on a stone bench a few dozen yards away, elbows on knees, head bowed. Rossi frowned and retraced his steps.

"Hotch? What's going on?"

"I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay." It was the dreaded mantra of denial.

Rossi sat beside his friend, studying the downcast eyes that couldn't conceal a look of confused discomfort. He set the flowers to one side, freeing one hand to rest on Hotch's back, the other to tip the face up and encourage communication.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm okay…"

"Stop that. It doesn't fool anyone. Least of all me. Now, what's happening to you?"

Hotch swallowed and took a few ragged breaths before answering. "I don't know. I just feel kind of light-headed. You know?"

Rossi gave himself a stern reprimand _not_ to fall into any misleading assumptions. He let his fingers linger against the lean cheek. It felt cool and dry. _Not sick. That's good. Next, let's eliminate his usual habits of self-neglect. _ "Aaron, did you eat anything today?"

"Uh…yeah. I did. I had breakfast when I came in."

"That was ten hours ago. We need to get you some food."

"Okay." Hotch took in one long, last breath and released it slowly. "First, let's finish up here." He stood, letting Rossi's hands steady him as he did. He nodded. "I'm good. Let's go."

Rossi picked up the flowers in one hand, leaving the other free to take a supportive position at Hotch's waist. The two men hadn't gone ten paces before Rossi felt Hotch shudder and stop again. Slowly, miserably, the younger man turned to look at his friend. "I'm sorry, Dave. I don't feel good. I don't think I can go with you."

The lump of chill that had taken up residence earlier at the nape of Rossi's neck…spread.

xxxxxxxx

After escorting Hotch back to the bench, Rossi deposited his flowers on the graves of his infant son and first wife. Normally, he would have stayed to speak to each…just a few words of love and regret and comfort. This time, he made his excuses and hurried back to Hotch.

Again, he took a seat beside him. "How are you doing, Aaron?"

"I don't know. This is weird." Sad eyes looked up at Rossi. "I'm sorry, Dave. I don't mean to be a problem. Didn't mean to ruin your visit. Sorry."

Rossi draped an arm across Hotch's shoulders and cinched him a little closer. "You didn't ruin anything. Not in the least." For a few silent moments, he alternated rubbing the shoulder under his hand with squeezing its owner closer. Rossi couldn't help the catch in his throat when he spoke again.

"Aaron, you know how I feel about you, don't you?"

A mirthless chuckle preceded the response. "Well, right now you're probably feeling you should've left me in the car."

"I'm serious, Aaron. Look at me." Hotch sensed the gravity of his friend's mood and met his eyes. "I love you like a son. I have a lot of things to figure out, but I want you to know that, okay? Of all the men I've met in all the places I've ever been and all the things I've ever done, you're the one I love as a son. The only one."

Hotch licked numb lips and nodded. "Thanks. I think I've always known that; it's just not the kind of thing you go around saying. But…yeah…I guess I do know that. Always have. And I've always wished I could've had a dad like you." His smile was wry. "Better late than never, right?"

Rossi shivered and nodded in agreement. "Better late than never. C'mon. Let's get you something to eat."

The two men stood and began walking back the way they'd come. After a few yards, Hotch stood a little straighter and managed a smile.

"Wow. I don't know what that was, but it's passed. I feel better. Sorry again about…whatever that was."

Rossi kept a hand on the small of Hotch's back as they walked. He couldn't deny that with each step, the man seemed more and more his old self.

He also couldn't deny that a huge spiritual monkey wrench had been thrown into the workings of his faith. And he also knew that he felt honor bound to let that strange, old man up north who'd started him questioning the very foundation of his beliefs, know that he might be right. _Might_ be right. A man who habitually forgot to feed himself feeling a little faint didn't necessarily prove reincarnation.

_It doesn't matter, _he told himself as they walked. _I love him. Always have. Always will. I just never thought 'always' could be longer than a lifetime. But I can live with that. _He grimaced, feeling a few more cracks appear in the stones upon which he was built.

_I can live with that again and again and again…_


	37. Convergence Zone

Ana placed a hand on her expanded abdomen. _It's time._

Then she laughed at Spencer's look of shock, fork halfway to mouth, noodles slipping back down to the plate.

_I just mean I think it's time for me to head up north to the doctor. He said to get there a few weeks early. Remember?_ She knew how silly it was to ask someone with an eidetic memory whether or not he recalled something, but she was giving Spencer a minute to compose himself and decide if his forkful of ramen was going to make it to his mouth or not.

It didn't. The noodles plopped down in a salty, wet lump while the mouth that had been their original destination stretched ever wider in a smile of pure joy.

_We're not on a case right now. Hotch said he'd spare me whenever possible. So, unless something comes up, I can go with you and see you settled in._ Reid's grin faded a little. _I just hope I can be there when it's __**really**__ time._

_Me, too. But we talked about this. We're not gonna be like Hotch and Haley. I know what your job is like and, if it starts to bother me, I'll tell you and we'll work it out. I won't leave._

Reid's eyes teared up a little. They were trying so hard to go into this new phase of their lives with eyes open and expectations realistic. But there was only so much they could do to prepare for the changes having a child might bring. They wouldn't really know what to expect until it happened. In the back of his mind, where he hoped it was hidden from his wife, he could still see the Hotchners bringing newborn Jack to the BAU for the first time. No one who saw them could have predicted they'd be torn apart, divorced less than four years later. The whole team had watched bitterness and sorrow carve up their boss, leaving cavernous wounds and a broken heart that Reid privately thought would never completely heal. It terrified him.

_That's not us, Spencer._ He swallowed and looked up, focusing on the sunny, alpine blue of his wife's eyes.

_Damn. I didn't want you to know…_

_That you have doubts? There's nothing wrong with that. I think it's more realistic than putting up a brave front._ She reached across the table and twined her fingers through his. _I'm scared, too. But our situation is different…we're different. _Her smile flashed out at him. _Besides, my __**biggest**__ doubt is that there's anyone else on the entire planet who'd be able to put up with either of us._

_You're right. _Reid's eyes widened. _Ana! How's our daughter ever going to find someone? We already know she's more gifted than her parents. What if she's so exceptional, she ends up alone for her entire life?_

Ana patted her stomach. _Then our doctor will become our matchmaker. I bet he knows all kinds of exceptional people. But let's give her a chance to grow up first, okay? Daddy?_

_Daddy. I like that. I never thought anyone would ever call me that._

_I never thought I'd get to be called 'Mommy' either._

The prospective parents stared at each other.

_Good God, Ana. We're all grown up. When did that happen?_

Her laugh defused Reid's awe at finding himself staring fatherhood in the face.

_Speak for yourself, Spencer. I still feel like a kid._ She lumbered to her feet with her husband's assistance. _A really big, clumsy kid who has to pee a lot. But still…a kid._

xxxxxxxxxx

"Carol, we're out of toilet paper in the second floor men's lavatory. Could you please get some from the storage closet?"

Bescardi grunted her assent. Some requests were so insultingly beneath her that she couldn't trust herself to verbalize a response. She might slip and give herself away; say what she was _really_ thinking.

_If I had my way, you'd be licking yourself clean like the dumb animal you are. Laboratory drone. Idiot. Are you even smart enough to know how to __**use**__ toilet paper?_

But Bescardi gritted her teeth, as she had for the last several months, and did as ordered. And then at night as she lay awake in her room in the halfway house, she'd tote up the tiny victories that her discipline and fortitude had garnered.

She wasn't surprised. After all, a superior mind placed among the human cattle would naturally rise to the top. Like fine cream separating itself from the pallid, workaday, ordinary milk. Milk she'd like to flush down the toilet she'd had to restock.

Already she'd impressed her employer with her work ethic and personable presence. When discussing her performance with the prison officials keeping track of work release participants, Carol Bescardi's reviews frequently contained words like 'reliable,' 'dedicated,' 'responsible,' 'congenial.' Ms. Bescardi was quite the pleasure to work with.

It didn't take long before her co-workers began to consider her status as a prisoner an example of justice gone awry. Their trust increased. Bescardi's leash lengthened.

She was given access to petty cash and a company car. A truck, actually. She was allowed to make short jaunts through and around Lake Placid to run errands and pick up supplies. When her science background helped her to make executive decisions and purchase items better suited to experiments in progress than those originally selected by the regular company buyer, she was given even more autonomy.

Through it all, she managed to keep her goal in sight. She had several, but knew that focusing on one would increase her chances of achieving it. Bescardi wanted to visit the monastery again. She needed to try to fill the holes in her memory. Since those holes revolved around the psychic retreat she'd engineered up in the mountains, it was logical to start by revisiting the scene of her demise.

She'd get to the people involved later.

The opportunity to set her plan in motion came on a Friday afternoon.

Most of the people she worked with had stopped thinking of her as a prison inmate. She was merely 'Carol' who spent her weekends back in New York. No one mentioned anymore that those weekends were behind bars. And no one thought twice about sending Carol on errands. So when a shipment of petri dishes and other assorted glassware was mistakenly delivered to Tupper Lake instead of Lake Placid, Carol was handed the keys to the truck and asked to retrieve the items.

Bescardi felt her heart leap. This was it. Tupper Lake was a mere forty minute drive to the west. North of Tupper Lake was that odd, little settlement at the edge of the wilderness. From there, it was a three hour drive on rough, mountain roads to the abandoned monastery.

xxxxxxxx

With virtually no traffic and a foot on the gas pedal made heavy with anticipation, she managed the drive to Tupper Lake in under thirty minutes. She located the shipment of glassware and made sure it was securely packed. It wouldn't do to return with shattered shards, although she was confident she could explain it away, if she did. These people were so stupid after all.

She drove to the northern edge of town. She'd been provided with a cell phone in case of an emergency while on the road. It was time to create just such a situation.

" 'Allo? 'Allo?" Bescardi sounded breathless as she connected with her supervisor at the lab. She let her Italian accent show through at the edges. She knew her boss found it charming.

"Carol? Is that you? What's wrong?"

"Oh, Meester Simon, eet ees so awful! I am so sorry!" She could practically hear the oaf smiling at her sweet, feminine distress.

"Calm down, Carol. What's so awful? Are you alright?"

Bescardi pulled back on the accent, hoping the dimwit would think he had the power to calm his lovely errand girl. "The truck, Meester Simon. It broke down. I'm in Tupper Lake, so at least I'm not stranded, but I'm afraid I'm going to be very late…VERY late…getting back."

"Oh. That's not good."

"I know, I know." She lowered her voice, injecting it with sensual warmth; a woman asking for a favor, for understanding. "I need to find a garage and then I don't know how long it'll take to get towed and find out what's wrong." She felt her heartbeat increase; here came the important part. "I don't think I'll be able to get back with the glassware until tomorrow…maybe the day after, depending on what needs fixing."

In the silence, she heard his sigh of resignation. "Well, if it was anyone else stuck out there, it wouldn't be a big deal. But, Carol, you're supposed to return to New York tonight. You know the rules."

"I do. Oh, sir, I do." She congratulated herself on achieving just the right amount of helpless regret. "But there's nothing I can do. If you could just speak to the officer at the house where I stay when I'm working, maybe they'll understand this isn't my fault." Her voice grew softer, lower. "If _anyone_ can explain…stand up for me…it's you, Mr. Simon."

She could hear the fool puffing up with self-important pride. "Well, let me see what I can do. Maybe they'll send a car for you."

"Oh, no! Please, I don't want to be any more trouble than I already am. Couldn't I just stay here and make sure everything gets taken care of?" She paused, swallowing her revulsion as she played the idiot on the other end. "I'd be _so_ grateful. So _very_ grateful. And even if this isn't my fault, I'd feel so much better if I was the one to set it right….So _very_ grateful."

"Tell you what, I'll call your house officer now and get back to you." His voice exuded male confidence. "Don't worry, Carol. We'll figure it out. This won't be held against you, I'm sure. After all, accidents do happen and I think you've proven yourself worthy of some extra trust and leeway."

"Ohhhhh…_thank you_, sir. Really." Her smile was genuine as she signed off. "I'll wait for your call, Mr. Simon."

xxxxxxx

An hour later, having been assured that she was excused from the Friday night shuttle to New York just this once and, yes, everyone understood, and she wasn't in any trouble; having given her own assurance in return that she would drive back to Lake Placid as soon as possible, depending on the vagaries of garages and mechanics…Bescardi was pulling into the nameless little settlement bordering on the Adirondack wilderness.

She drove slowly through town, trying to recall exactly where the rustic road began that would lead to the monastery. It was still light enough for her to make the three hour drive. The sleepy, little town looked the same. Nothing had changed. She was debating making a stop for something to eat when she saw them.

A young, pregnant woman, clearly approaching the end of her term was struggling out of a passenger side car door. Bescardi wouldn't have given her a second glance if she hadn't heard the man's voice.

"Ana! Wait for me to help you!"

Carol's head snapped around so quickly it hurt. A wave of dizziness washed over her. This was surreal. This was impossible.

This was perfect.

None other than Dr. Spencer Reid, her prime test subject, bolted from the driver's seat to help the woman extract herself and clamber up the steps to the Victorian building with the sign that proclaimed it 'Millie's B&B.'

Once she saw him, she recognized the girl as well. Test subject number two. She'd known they had married. She'd actually prayed to the gods of science that they would breed.

It looked as though the gods had heard.


	38. A Step Closer

Saturday morning Reid and Ana paid a call on the doctor.

They were sure he already knew they'd arrived. He seemed to know everything of note that transpired in his little village. But it was the polite thing to do and they wanted to express their gratitude once again for putting himself at their service.

The receptionist at the hospital greeted them with an enthusiastic smile.

_The doctor is very busy but he'll be out in a few minutes, if you don't mind waiting?_

_Not a problem. We don't want to intrude. Just want to let him know we're here._ Reid helped Ana into a seat and hovered over her. He swelled with pride every time he looked at her. He didn't think he'd ever get over the sheer wonder of knowing someone not only loved him enough to marry him, but had taken it to a whole new level by loving him enough to become the mother of his children. And every time he reveled in that realization, Ana would pick up on it and be unable to contain her equal and answering joy.

_It works two ways, Spencer._ She ran a gentle hand over his flat stomach as he stood beside her chair. _I never thought I'd find someone who'd love me even when I look like a giant pear. Too bad we can't share __**that**__ particular burden._

He responded by leaning down and kissing the tip of her upturned nose. _I promise once the baby's born, I'll do my fair share of bearing the burden. In fact, I'm betting this kid's feet won't touch the ground for years with me around._

_Nonsense, children._ The mental voice that carried such resonance and depth it could never be mistaken for anyone else's, preceded the appearance of the hospital's head doctor. _You will love your child without depriving it of normal, developmental progress._ Grace notes of humor danced around the reprimand, transforming it into an affectionate greeting.

_Doctor._ The single word was imbued with all of Reid's respect and gratitude.

_Telepath. It's good to see you again. Both of you._ The old gentleman walked to Ana's side. He placed the palm of one hand against her cheek. Ana's eyes closed, smile beatific. _You've done well, empath. Very well. _His brows rose, amusement sending them skyward. _And you've been having some interesting dreams of late._

Ana felt a faint flush of heat. She hadn't considered her dreams to be readable; not even by her husband. They faded so quickly upon awakening, she hardly recalled them herself. Only scattered images lingered. The doctor chuckled aloud.

_Blame your child. She misses Aaron._

Reid's eyes widened as he looked down at her. _You're dreaming about Hotch?_

_Not like __**that!**_Ana saw no reason to conceal the fact once it had been dragged into the open. _Lately, I keep seeing him just doing normal things; eating, sleeping, mowing his lawn, playing with Jack. And sometimes at the BAU with the rest of you guys. I didn't bring it up, because it doesn't seem significant._ A shade of worry came into her eyes as she looked up at the doctor. _**Is**__ it significant?_

The doctor shook his head. _No. We discussed this possibility. Your child is seeking him. He is her perfect storm. _A slight frown appeared to add more wrinkles to the weathered face. _It might be a good idea, the next time you come here, telepath, to bring Aaron with you. It would be a wise precaution to ask Julio to recharge the amulets all of you wear. And maybe I will speak to him about creating one for the child as well._

Both Reid's and Ana's smiles had diminished. The doctor restored them as best he could. _Dangers abound. Risks are part of life. If you allow them to rule you, you deny yourselves much of the joy for which risks are worth the taking._ He rested two fingers beneath her chin and tipped Ana's face up. _Once again: well done, empath. I will check in on you frequently over the next few weeks while you reside at Millie's. _He grinned. _She will enjoy pampering you, I think._

_Telepath…Your child is the one dreaming of Aaron, not your wife. Jealousy is, again, unwarranted._

Reid nodded, looking a little sheepish, but still stunned that his daughter was influencing Ana much as she had initially influenced Hotch. Which reminded him…

_Doctor, I'm supposed to give you this._ He reached into a jacket pocket and extracted the creased, slightly-worse-for-wear envelope Rossi had entrusted him to deliver.

Old hands smoothed the paper. _It's been a long time since someone wrote me a letter._ His smile reflected ancient memories of words penned by those long gone. _I will save this for later…_brows rose, questioning…_.unless it requires a response?_

Reid shook his head. _I don't know what it's about. Rossi made me promise not to open it. And Ana made sure I didn't._

The doctor's smile was for the predictability of human nature. The telepath's mind contained an inordinate amount of curiosity. It would never stop seeking. The surest way to imperil the sanctity of a secret was to tell him that one existed in the first place. The empath, however, would always value emotions first. Trust was sacred to her and she would keep her mate honest by placing sympathetic consideration above inquisitiveness. They balanced each other well.

_You will stay the night. If I wish to send a reply, I know where to find you._ He slipped the envelope into the pocket of his lab coat. _Now, I have work to do. I'm glad you came to me. Don't worry, telepath. Something tells me you'll make it back in time to welcome an extraordinary child into the world. We will take good care of your wife in the meantime._

Reid and Ana watched the old man disappear back into the depths of his hospital.

Despite his reassurances, the young couple spent the rest of the day and the entire night in constant, close contact with each other, body and soul.

xxxxxxxx

Carol Bescardi liked to think of herself as unflappable when faced with the unexpected. She prided herself on many things, but one of the traits she assigned herself and held in the highest regard, was intellectual agility. First, it set her apart from the dreary dregs of the rest of humanity. Second, it allowed her to adapt and acclimate to uncontrolled variables, thereby keeping her progress on track, rendering her goals achievable when lesser beings would falter, their resolve fading, their effort wasted.

But when she saw her former test subjects and realized the female was in the late stages of pregnancy, Bescardi was floored, stunned, agape. She had to speak to herself _very_ sternly to regain her superior edge of composure.

She gripped the steering wheel, kept her head down and watched as she reminded herself that the only way to succeed in any venture was to do one step, do it well, and then move on to the next. And the step that she'd set for herself now, was revisiting the monastery. She needed to fill in the gaps in her memory first. Then she could begin to gather data on the people she wanted to study…and the people she wanted to punish for ruining her career…her _life! _

The very thought of all she'd been through, all she'd lost almost put her over the edge again. She dug her nails, which she'd managed to keep a deep ruby red despite her menial labor, into her palms, relishing the sharp pain. Sometimes physical stimulus was the best method to spur a subject on. Witness the lab rats who responded with such gratifying speed to electric shock. So gratifying that sometimes Bescardi would apply the stimulus for no reason at all. She smiled. It was good to remember the rewards of past experiments.

She felt better. Her balance and caution regained.

She watched long enough to ascertain that Dr. Reid and the girl were arriving…not leaving. She scanned the entire street and saw no sign of David Rossi or that lamentably dull watchdog. Really, all she could remember about him now was his unsettling eyes and the fact that when she'd dosed him with her brilliantly designed drug, she'd neglected to account for his lesser weight. She shrugged. Wasn't her fault if the idiot couldn't keep a decent amount of flesh on his bones.

But the important part was that her test subjects no longer seemed to be escorted, chaperoned, watched over. It was tempting to stay and observe. But a good scientist doesn't get sidetracked or rush results.

She needed time to consider this marvelous turn of events. But she couldn't endanger the small freedoms she'd worked so hard to win either. Nor should she forget her first objective: the monastery.

For the next three hours, as Bescardi drove up the mountain, she congratulated herself on the iron self-discipline she had demonstrated by driving away from Dr. Reid and his gravid wife.

xxxxxxxx

It had been an unusually tiring day for the elderly doctor. Even with Julio's help, it had been wearying.

An uncommon number of patients had been in need of counseling and gentle therapy. He never gave less than his best. He considered each person who needed his care an irreplaceable treasure. The appearance of the young couple about to enter parenthood had been a pleasant distraction, but their very presence had also set him thinking, planning to ensure the best experience possible for the birth. On a day when he was already fully occupied, it had been one more care to add to his burden. A welcome burden, but, still, he had felt spread a little thin.

_Maybe it's age. _He smiled. _I might live forever, but I still feel the gradual erosion of time._

And at one point during the day, shortly before the telepath had shown up with his wife, there had been an eerie frisson of dread. Like a cloud passing over the sun. Like a premonition of ill tidings. But it had passed. Whatever it was hadn't stayed long; had moved on. The doctor shook his head and shrugged. Walking home, he'd felt nothing amiss in his little sanctuary.

_Can't be jumping at every shadow one feels. Again, maybe I'm just getting old._

He'd made it through the day with the thought of a treat waiting for him. The letter. Now, he poured himself some of his excellent, smooth scotch and settled into his favorite chair to read what Aaron's once-and-future father had to say. It began without preamble.

"_I took him to visit my son's grave. He didn't make it. In the cemetery, he started feeling 'light-headed' he said. But this is a man who works so hard, so single-mindedly, he doesn't remember to take care of himself. He hadn't eaten for a while. So, in the end, instead of taking him to a grave, I took him to dinner. I don't think I can bring him back again without explaining why. I don't want to do that. Not yet, anyway. Seeing him weaken like that was disturbing. He's been through enough, don't you think?_

_If I try again (and that's a pretty big 'if'), I'll warn him first._

_I won't lie. It was a strange experience, but inconclusive. It proved nothing. Sorry._

_David Rossi"_

The doctor smiled, folded the letter back into its envelope with care, and sipped his drink.

_On the contrary, my friend. It proved you have an open mind and are willing to risk your view of the world and of your place in it, in favor of finding the truth. Brave and admirable. Just like your son._

_You formed that boy. He is yours. I see it. As clearly and as conclusively as DNA, I see your souls cut from the same unique cloth. I see five previous connections as father and son._

He sighed.

_And I see at least three more to come. But I am less far-sighted looking forward than looking back. There are likely many, many more I cannot see. Yet. If I were Aaron, I'd want to know. Still, I will abide by a father's wishes. The choice to tell him, or not, is yours._


	39. Fox's Retribution

The visit to the monastery was disappointing.

Bescardi hadn't expected to find any equipment or remains of her little group's habitation, but she'd thought being there might provoke a few lost memories. As it was, every bit of evidence had been removed; everything put back in order. She wandered the dank, stony halls like a disconsolate ghost, trailing her fingers along the rough walls, scenting the air and listening for anything that might jog a sense memory.

But there was nothing.

She sniffed. When push came to shove, although the blanks offended her penchant for orderliness in all things, she supposed she really didn't need them filled. She knew who to blame: Dr. Reid, the girl, and the lamentable watchdog.

And Rossi. She had no proof that he'd been the one to wreak havoc on the premises, but he hadn't needed to be there to destroy her career. A lifetime of connections in government and publishing gave him enough ammunition to bring her down. And right from the start he'd made no secret of his intentions to do so if she didn't bend to his will concerning her test subjects.

_As though that glorified security guard had the right to interfere in work that could have changed the course of human development!_

Bescardi would have liked to stay longer, but she couldn't risk it. She didn't want to lose any of the ground she'd worked so hard to gain. Especially now that she'd seen her quarry so close. The sight had been an almost visceral goad. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel the wave of dizzy, disbelieving disorientation…followed by sheer elation.

Her memory might be faulty where specific occurrences during the retreat were concerned, but it was crystal clear about the enticing initial results of her tests. The most intriguing data had been the blood analysis during ESP-er activity. The implications were astounding.

Carol Bescardi spent the time driving back to civilization mentally reviewing the procedures she'd like to repeat and the new ones she'd like to conduct, if…_NO! Not 'if.' WHEN I get that child into a nice, sterile, controlled environment._

She vowed to renew her efforts to augment her privileges by virtue of her officially 'good behavior.' And to ramp up her internet surveillance on the Reid family. A birth announcement should be making an appearance very, very soon.

xxxxxxxx

Rossi inadvertently supplied Hotch with the inspiration he needed to execute payback for "The Incident of the Unicorn," as the Unit Chief referred to it in the privacy of his own thoughts.

Every night Hotch had been packing up his briefcase, picking up his son, and dividing his evenings between quality daddy-time, paperwork, and fantasies revolving around lavender, plush revenge. He would stay up late after Jack had been tucked into bed with a story and a kiss. Sitting at his desk in his home office, every time he looked up, the one-horned monstrosity leered out at him from the bookcase where he'd banished it; a constant reminder of pastel purple humiliation.

The weekend that Reid took Ana to settle in at Millie's B&B for the remainder of her pregnancy, Rossi had decided to surprise the young couple. They had moved into a larger place, but financially they could only afford the bare basics to set up a nursery.

With special assistance from J.J. and Garcia, he'd gone on a mini-shopping spree. When Reid returned, he'd find everything they'd been unable to purchase, but still needed, as well as a respectable number of luxury items, ready and waiting for the new arrival. Everyone agreed it was a thoughtful, generous gesture; the kind that Rossi's big, Italian heart delighted in making.

That evening Hotch thought about his friend's kindness and smiled. Then he happened to look up into The Beast's lurid, red-lipped face, it's horn jutting out in rainbow arrogance. His smile…transformed. Had Rossi been there to see it, he would have shivered and crossed himself to ward off sinister forces, muttering "Fox-face" as he did so.

xxxxxxxxx

Millie was having a glorious time.

She'd never attained motherhood herself; a circumstance she blamed on the lack of potential suitors in her tiny, isolated neck of the woods, coupled with her reluctance to venture beyond the confines of her little village. But having the young FBI agent's spouse on hand brought out all of her maternal instincts in force.

And the girl was so delightfully willing to be pampered. She would walk every day for exercise, but otherwise, she allowed her hostess to ply her with tempting tidbits, teas provided by the old doctor, and endless conversation.

It had been enjoyable teaching Miss Princess to crochet, but it was even better showing Ana…such a nice, _simple_ name!...how to knit. The prospective mother was truly interested and had a definite knack for the craft. It wasn't long before she'd produced her very first baby blanket. Fashioned out of soft, fluffy lavender angora, it incorporated beads supplied by Mr. Roolies.

When Millie expressed concern over a child managing to loosen the beading, she was told something about how the adorable, little blankie would be used as a talismanic wall hanging over the newborn's crib. She didn't quite understand, but when it became apparent that the old doctor and Mr. Roolies had collaborated on the construction of the thing, she took it on trust that they knew what they were doing.

Aside from occasional bouts of loneliness for her husband, Ana was thriving.

She didn't even mind when word got back to her that the B&B proprietress was putting the rumor about that the young agent had brought his wife here, entrusting her, for safety's sake, to Millie…Friend and Compatriot of the FBI.

Miss Millie walked the street with head high, a look of competent purpose in her eye. After all, she knew better than anyone else in town about the dangers lurking in the world outside this tiny settlement, thanks to her mysterious, intriguing connections.

Ana forgave her any posturing, up to and including the handmade business card Millie had laboriously drawn for herself. A crude imitation of the official ones that graced her foyer, it was framed and placed touchingly close to that of Mr. Rosie…_Dave!_...

xxxxxxxx

Two weeks later, assured of stand down for an entire weekend, Rossi rented a cabin in the woodlands along Chopawamsic Creek west of Quantico. He loaded up Mudgie and shed all worries in favor of two days of duck hunting. He'd asked Aaron if he wanted to come along, but the Unit Chief had said he had plans that couldn't be canceled.

It was just as well: Rossi was looking forward to some quiet, alone-time. He drove off with provisions for himself and his dog, and happy expectations for a restorative couple of days.

Parked down the road, Hotch watched him leave.

He did indeed have plans.

xxxxxxxx

Sunday night Rossi returned; tired, sunburnt, relaxed and happy. Ready to return to work the next morning with his patience and calm demeanor fully restored.

He pulled into his spacious four-car garage, let Mudgie out and unloaded his gear. Yawning, he entered his mansion. It really was too large a home for one person, but Rossi enjoyed how his luxurious lifestyle reminded him of his success. He dropped his luggage on the tiled floor of the wide entry hall and ambled to the large, state-of-the-art kitchen.

"Hey, Mudge! You hungry, boy?" There was no response. The dog had sprinted for the stairs and had disappeared into the second floor. Rossi chuckled.

"I don't blame you, boy. I'm too tired to eat, too." He pulled off his boots and shed his hunter's jacket and vest. Padding into the living room, he went to the wet bar and poured himself a generous tumbler of scotch…two ice cubes.

From deep in the upper level, Mudgie's querulous whine made his master smile.

"On my way, boy."

Rossi gave a sigh of pure contentment. He enjoyed the pleasant exhaustion that was making his muscles move with the slow ease of warm molasses. It presaged that he would sleep deeply and awaken refreshed and alert. He turned at the top of the majestic staircase and saw Mudgie waiting for him, sitting in the hall, tilting his head from side to side as he surveyed the master bedroom with grave, canine regard.

"What's up, Mudge-boy? Did I forget to make the bed? Huh?" Rossi sipped his scotch and ruffled his dog's ears in passing. He stepped into the bedroom and…

….froze.

Speech deserted him for a moment. Several, actually. When it returned, it burst forth in a roar.

"AARON HOTCHNER! YOU SCRAWNY, STINKING, TWISTED WEASEL!"

His bedroom…his finely-wrought, elegantly masculine, expensively appointed, private inner sanctum…had become a fairyland.

The bed he had been so looking forward to occupying was gone. In its place, a canopied monstrosity frothing with lace and linens that he at first thought resembled something he'd seen while shopping for Reid's nursery. But that had been called 'My Little Pony.' This was…so…much…worse. Tiny, pastel unicorns cavorted with wide-eyed, lunatic abandon across pillow shams and blankets. Ribbons curled like a princess' ringlets depended from the canopy itself. The walls were festooned with bunting made of pink and lavender chiffon dotted with purple sequins.

Rossi's eyes tracked to the corner where his prized Louis Comfort Tiffany lamp had presided in regal shades of brown and emerald. Gone. In its place a lampshade carousel of whimsical animals, in which unicorns figured prominently. The thing twirled, emitting rays of soft, pink light.

His furniture had been replaced with dainty chairs and a vanity, all painted white and featuring gilded curlicues picked out with tiny pink rosebuds. He stepped closer, looking at his display of framed photos which represented some of his finest moments.

The photos were still there, but in every one Rossi's image had been supplemented with a glistening, rainbow horn in the center of his forehead. In some his mouth had been replaced with large, red, trout-like lips, shining provocatively.

There was more. So much more. Stuffed animals winked out at him from all sides. When he finally stumbled to his closet and turned the doorknob…once brass, but now pink porcelain with giddy happy-faces scattered across it…his clothes were gone. A rainbow assortment of princess dresses fit for a six-year-old's birthday party billowed out at him. Squinting, he realized the disturbing fact that they were all in his size.

Stunned, Rossi backed to the middle of the room and turned slowly, aghast at the transformation that had taken place in a mere two days. When he saw the webcam fixed to the molding in the upper corner facing the door, his brows drew down to the point where his vision was almost obscured. He chugged his drink, letting it burn its way down. Breathing heavily, he glared at what he was sure was recording his reactions and sending them live to one Aaron Hotchner, Weasel at Large.

He could only pray that the feed wasn't streaming over the internet as well.


	40. Thursday Next

Monday morning, after a mostly sleepless night during which Rossi disabled the webcam and engaged in a fruitless search for his missing possessions, he entered the BAU to find Hotch already ensconced behind his desk.

With slow, deliberate steps, he ascended the catwalk stairs to stand in the Unit Chief's doorway. Hotch kept his head bent over his work, but Rossi could tell by the quick flick and glitter of the man's eyes, that his presence had been noticed. Rossi also noted the tense neck muscles and the slight increase in respiration as Hotch's chest moved a little more rapidly beneath the immaculate, blue dress shirt.

"Good morning, Aaron." Low, expressionless, yet chilly.

The dark head lifted from its sham concentration. "Dave! Good morning! How was your weekend? Get any ducks?"

Rossi's pace was measured, almost qualifying as a stalk. He approached to within inches of Hotch's innocently smiling face. Reaching out one hand, he cradled his friend's chin, raising the eyes to meet his own deadly stare.

"Mudge and I got two ducks. They were delicious." He tightened his grip on the chin that tried to lift its way free. "_BUT_, when I got home I found the stench of weasel everywhere."

"Weasel? I wasn't aware Quantico had a weasel problem."

Rossi's voice remained expressionless. "Oh, yes. Skinny, stinking, sucking weasels. A BIG problem."

"Sorry to hear that. Think you could let go of me now?"

Rossi let his hand slide up against the side of Hotch's face. "Everything better be back in place by the time I get home, Aaron. I have connections you don't even know about…connections that could do a man some painful harm. Are we clear?"

"I don't understand, Dave." Blank innocence.

_Very well done, Aaron_.

"Of course you don't." Rossi gave his friend's face a parting pat…almost a slap…before turning and walking away.

He sighed as he went to his own office one door down. He would never hurt Aaron, but he hoped by using what he termed his "Mafia voice," that the man would take him seriously and undo the interior decor fit for a princess. He'd gagged at the thought of sleeping in the room and had stayed in one of his guest rooms last night for the few minutes of rest he'd been able to grab. Mudgie, on the other hand, had curled up on the frothy, lacy bed and seemed delighted to have stuffed animals to nuzzle and chew.

This morning he'd realized the only clothes he could wear were his begrimed, weekend duck hunting, polo shirt and jeans. It was either that or one of the Disney fairytale gowns wafting about in his closet.

Weary head hanging, Rossi went to his desk and laid his briefcase on top. Walking around to his chair, he glanced up…

…and froze.

The same sickly stomach-swoop that he'd experienced the previous night upon seeing his transformed bedroom claimed him now. Directly across from his desk, high on the wall where he would see it every time he looked up, was the head of the original, lavender unicorn. It had been mounted on a plaque like a hunting trophy. It had taken the place of an expensive oil of a New England landscape from the 1700s.

It stank of weasel.

xxxxxxxxxx

Carol Bescardi had come through her trumped up car trouble incident with flying colors. She'd expected no less. Pulling a few things loose under the hood once she was back in Tupper Lake had been child's play. It allowed her to obtain a _bona fide_ receipt from a garage for repairs, which she would brandish with confidence once she returned to Lake Placid.

The hard part had been driving past that dilapidated B&B and seeing the pregnant girl sitting on the porch with a lumpy, old matron…knitting. Bescardi had allowed herself a sneer for the homely hobby. It ranked right up there with basket-weaving-as-therapy; something that would be high on the list of activities in a home for the perpetually confused.

She'd had to remind herself _very_ sternly that in any good experiment, each step must be accomplished in order, if one expected to achieve the best results. And the girl wasn't the objective anymore. She was only an empath; an inferior, emotional creature. But the child she bore…_that_ was another matter.

_Be patient, Carol. _

She drove past the old house slowly, wondering if this was a permanent address for her test subjects, or if perhaps the older woman was a relative to whom they'd come for help as the baby's arrival approached. She couldn't think of any other reason for them to be so far off the beaten path. Dr. Reid's work schedule was quixotic at best. Perhaps the girl needed someone more reliably available at this point.

Bescardi shook her head in consternation. From the moment she'd first realized how strong Dr. Reid's talents were, she'd decried the danger that went hand in glove with his chosen profession. Such a fount as he was of potential scientific data should be kept under lock and key in a safe, controlled environment. It was irresponsible of the man to continue to risk himself, knowing how valuable his presence could be in a research lab.

_Well, I won't let that happen to the offspring._ She pursed her lips as she picked up speed and continued on to Tupper Lake. There was no guarantee that Dr. Reid's child would be exceptional. Heredity was so intricate, it could throw you a curve, but Bescardi was willing to lay odds that the baby would be worth studying, no matter how it turned out. At the very least, it's blood deserved analysis. And if she could provoke it with some sort of stress that would make it access any latent ESP-er gifts it might have, well, _that_ could be extremely intriguing.

_But first things first. Build on the work you've already done, Carol. Win more trust, more freedom. Plan. Plan every tiny detail._

She smiled. A baby would be so much easier to control than its ungrateful, uncooperative parents had been. And this time she'd be sure there was no watchdog around.

xxxxxxxxx

"Hey. How're you feeling?"

"Big. You?"

Reid's smile filled his words. "Lonely. Miss you."

"Me, too." Ana's voice perked up. "Actually, _we_ miss you…Daddy."

"Oh, God, I love hearing that." Reid was at work; another long day of consults and reports, lots of paper to push. His co-workers heard the catch in his throat and smiled.

"There's a reason I called, other than to tell you how much I love you, Spencer."

"Yeah? What? Everything okay?" What he hated most about separation was the inability to cross that many miles telepathically. He was so used to having his wife _right there_. It was almost physically painful to have to rely solely on verbal communication. So many gradations of meaning and emotion were left out.

"Everything's fine. But the doctor spent a lot of time examining me today and he said to tell you to come up before next Thursday." She paused, letting agonizing seconds slip between them. "_If_, that is, you want to be here to welcome your daughter."

Morgan and Prentiss sat up a little straighter. Reid's eyes had gone wide, and his face even paler than usual. They exchanged glances, then resumed keeping watch over their friend in case support was needed.

"H-H-How…how…how does he _know_ that? Is he planning on a C-section? Ana?"

She sounded soft, smooth, soothing. "No. No, my beloved, beautiful husband. I can't tell you _how_ he does it, but he had me lie down. He put a hand on my forehead and one on my...stomach...…and..."

"Ana? Ana!" His frantic cry broke her out of the trance that had almost claimed her, just as it had earlier in the day, under the old doctor's hands.

"I'm here! I'm fine!" She took in and expelled a deep breath. "Sorry! I don't know how he does it, but…wow…I can still kind of feel it…When I came out of it, he told me Melinda would be here next Thursday. And you should come. And you should bring Hotch." She heard the silence and didn't need to be in telepathic proximity to know a frisson of jealousy was shuddering its way over her mate.

"Spencer! So Julio can recharge Hotch's charm! That's all, silly, wonderful, jealous, husband…Daddy."

Reid lowered his head so his grin wouldn't be _too_ obvious to his colleagues. "I'll be there. No matter what…I'll be there. And I'll make Rossi force Hotch to take a couple days off, too. If anyone can do it, he can."

Silence happened, as it sometimes does. And then husband and wife spoke in unison as though all the miles between them were merely a breath and their minds were still connected.

"I love you. See you soon."


	41. Shades of Fatherhood

"C'mon, Aaron, we _both_ have vacation time coming. And there's nothing the others can't handle on their own for a couple of days." Rossi was doing his best to push his friend into another trip to upstate New York.

"I just don't think it's really necessary for me to tag along, Dave." Hotch liked the old doctor and he'd actually felt a little thrill of anticipation when Rossi had approached him with the idea of accompanying Reid. He couldn't explain it, but he always felt as though he'd been given permission to regress when the old man was around. It was okay to be just Aaron, who made mistakes, who sometimes needed to be reminded to eat, whose cowlicks needed smoothing, who sometimes needed to be told he was a good man even if he didn't quite believe it. He could shed the badge and gun, and embrace _not_ having all the answers…_not_ being the one people looked to for decisions. When he applied his profiling skills to himself, he supposed he felt that way because there'd never been a safe place for him when he was growing up. Finding one now was like having Rossi tell him he loved him as a son: better late than never.

It felt good to be around that strange, kind, elderly physician…like an emotional purr.

Now, as he listened to Rossi enumerate the reasons for another trip north, he could almost feel the old doctor's hand on his face, running that worn, comforting thumb over his cheekbone as he had a number of times before. Even dredging it up from memory made him relax a little.

And that's why Hotch didn't want to go. The place and the man had too much power over him.

_One of these times I'll stay. I just won't come back. I'll bring Jack and just…stay._

And _that_ was dangerous thinking.

Rossi narrowed his eyes and stroked his beard. "I'll make you a deal, Aaron. You go where I tell you for the next few days, and I'll let you off the hook for redoing my bedroom in your weasel-version of Twisted Disney."

Hotch's brows rose. This was an interesting carrot to dangle. "Does that include the spillover into your office?"

Rossi swallowed the acid reflux that afflicted him whenever he thought of the mounted unicorn head that had lasted on his office wall for a grand total of five minutes before he tore it down with his bare hands. "Okay. But you have to go where I tell you without arguing. Deal?"

Hotch had a feeling there was something lurking between the lines of this verbal contract, but he couldn't think what it might be. "D-e-e-al." He drawled the word, infusing it with caution.

Hotch expected the older agent to smile, having won this round of bargaining, but Rossi looked almost sad as he nodded.

"Good." He took a deep breath. "Then we start after work. Have Jack stay with his aunt. I'm taking you to dinner first, and then…well,…we'll see." Rossi turned, heading back toward his own office, but before he was out the door something clicked in Hotch's mind, triggered by his friend's sorrowful look.

"Dave?"

"Hmmm?" Rossi stopped, glancing back over his shoulder.

"Are you going to take me to that cemetery again?"

There was a beat of silence as the men's eyes connected, reading what they could, knowing it wasn't enough to make any judgments on either side.

Rossi took a step back into the office, keeping his voice low. "Yes."

"Why?"

Silence.

Rossi walked all the way back to stand beside Hotch where he sat at his desk. Without hesitation, he reached out and brushed his thumb over the prominent cheekbone. Having just been thinking of the old doctor's hand doing the same thing, Hotch stiffened, on alert for…something…he wasn't sure what. Maybe for being lured into letting someone take care of him, letting himself be weak. Maybe not. But maybe. Some deep, emotional scar told him to be wary of affection. Sometimes it turned to pain. Safer not to let anyone know you wanted it.

"What's this all about, Dave?"

Rossi sighed, smoothing the cheekbone one last time before dropping his hand to his side. "We'll talk at dinner, Aaron. After that, I won't force you to come with me, if you don't want to."

Hotch frowned. "I'll go with you. I just don't understand."

"I'm not sure I do either."

xxxxxxxxx

When Hotch had restored Rossi's bedroom to sober masculinity, he'd simply done a trade. He'd stashed the room's original contents in a rented storage unit before bringing in the frothy, lacy replacements. With Dave's 'Mafia voice' still ringing in his ears, he'd made a few calls and had left work early that day to supervise the switch back. The princess room was consigned to storage, and Rossi had been able to sleep again without having pastel, beribboned nightmares.

But instead of returning the prank merchandise to the various points of purchase, Hotch had handed it over to Reid, along with a sheaf of sales receipts.

"Not sure how much of this stuff you guys can use, but I figured you could return what you don't want and get store credit or something." A little bit of the fox had appeared in Hotch's grin. He didn't say it out loud, but he knew, at some point, the Reids would host a gathering to warm their new home and introduce their new daughter to the team. He was looking forward to the expression on Rossi's face when he recognized some of the feminine trappings in the nursery.

"Wow. Hotch…you sure?" Reid's eyes had tracked over the mountain of plunder filling the small storage space.

"Very sure. I hope Ana likes it. I remember Haley…" His voice caught as a wave of sadness accompanied the name. "…she had so much fun putting together a nursery for Jack…" He trailed off, caught in a web of memory spun from equal parts of joy and sorrow.

Reid rubbed a hand between his leader's shoulder blades. "She'll love it. And I think I'll wait for her to get back. We can go through this stuff together. We've already got everything set up we need to get started, thanks to Rossi. I can wait for Ana. 'Cause you're right: she'll have so much fun doing this."

Reid studied his leader's profile, realizing that, as far as their team went, he would soon be stepping up to a level currently occupied only by Hotch. Fatherhood. He wondered how it would feel.

"I can't even begin to describe how it'll be the first time you hold her, Reid. Father to father, you're gonna fall in love again. You'll fall so hard, it'll hurt. You'll never quite recover." Hotch's slow smile spread to his eyes without even a hint of fox; just joy.

Reid shivered. It was almost as though the Unit Chief had read his mind.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Dinner was very quiet.

Rossi watched Hotch push his food around on his plate until he had to say something.

"Aaron, you don't have to go with me." He saw some sort of tiny sculpture emerging from a dollop of guacamole. "But you _do_ have to eat. That's not negotiable." Creation of the avocado artwork continued. Rossi frowned. "Aaron!"

Hotch's head snapped up. "Huh?...Oh…sorry." He forked some refried beans into his mouth, but Rossi could tell it was a token effort, devoid of enthusiasm for one of the best Mexican restaurants in Quantico.

"Aaron!" This time when he looked up, the eyes had a glint of recognition, of real attention being paid. Rossi put his elbows on the table and rested his chin against folded hands, leaning toward his dinner companion. "I said you don't have to come with me to the cemetery."

"I'll go. I don't understand why you want me there, but I'll go."

Rossi had seen a hungry Hotch wolf food. The man opposite him was nothing like that. He was chewing a lot more than necessary and taking a long time between bites. "Something's getting between you and a damn fine enchilada platter, Aaron. I know you haven't eaten all day. So if it's _not_ concern about going with me later, what is it?" The dark head remained down, but Rossi could tell his offer to listen was being given serious consideration. "Tell me what's on your mind. C'mon. Maybe I can help."

"I'm sorry. I'm just…thinking."

Rossi almost chuckled, but managed to confine his amusement to a small smile. "Clearly. Now, if you'd care to elaborate…?"

" 'S'nothing, really. Just fatherhood stuff."

Rossi froze, his own dinner feeling like a slab of lead in his stomach. He put some effort into keeping his voice smooth, evenly inflected. "What about fatherhood?"

Hotch put his fork down, placing it neatly on the rim of his plate. "Just about how many changes it brings." He looked up. "If that old doc is right, Reid's gonna be a father the day after tomorrow."

"And we'll be there to support him. So what's bothering you?"

Hotch had a glazed, faraway look. His voice sounded distant. "So many things can go wrong. I want to warn Reid that at some point his heart's gonna break. But it'll still be worth it. I don't wanna scare him, but he doesn't have a father around to tell him that kind of thing either. And he needs to hear it."

Rossi was frowning. "Why do you say that? That something bad is bound to happen?"

" 'Cause it always does." Hotch focused on Rossi's quizzical, concerned expression. "Dave, you _lost_ your son. You must know what I mean."

After a few minutes of silent study, Rossi spoke. "You're afraid someday someone or something will take Jack away from you? Again?"

Hotch looked down at his mostly full plate, but he nodded miserably.

"Oh, Aaron." Rossi's sigh commingled sympathy and aggravation. "You're afraid of what's already happened to you. Listen to me…. That. Already. Happened…. And you lived through it. It can't hurt you anymore. And if by some strange chance it happens again, you've already been there. You'll live through it again. You're believing in the Bad Thing That Happened, but you're not believing in your own ability to survive. Most of the things we fear are already in our past." He shrugged. "Otherwise, we wouldn't know to fear them."

There was a flicker of interest, but Hotch still kept his eyes lowered, fixed on his plate. He didn't want to see the impact of the words he felt he had to say next. "But _your_ son didn't survive. Sometimes we _don't_ come through the bad things."

Rossi leaned back and felt his heart break a little for what the rest of his planned evening might do to Aaron. "I don't know about that. I think sometimes we survive in…_other_…ways."

Hotch finally met the older man's gaze, looking puzzled. "What d'you mean?"

"Finish your dinner and we'll go where I can explain."

"The cemetery?"

"Eat. I don't want you fainting away from hunger this time." Rossi attempted a smile, but it was a little too grim around the edges to be reassuring.

xxxxxxxx

Autumn was in the air, but evenings were still long. Although sunset was closing in, the graveyard gates would be open for a little while yet. The light was a mellow, golden haze over the manicured perfection of the grounds as two men stood at the edge, where the pavement ended.

This time, instead of flowers, Rossi had brought two greeting cards. One for Carolyn. One for James. They rested in his jacket pocket, waiting to be delivered to the dead.

Hotch stretched and breathed deeply. "This really is a beautiful place, Dave. So peaceful."

"Yeah. Cemeteries are like that." He was keeping a close eye on the younger man. He'd made sure he was fed. He knew he wasn't ill and a sly conversation earlier in the day had told him that Hotch had slept as well as he ever did the night before. There was no earthly reason to doubt he would make the walk to the Rossi family graves without incident. _But maybe an __**un**__earthly one…_

"You still haven't told me what this is all about."

"I know. It's hard. And at times I think I shouldn't tell you at all. But we're here."

"And…?" Curiosity was making Hotch a little pushy. Ordinarily, he'd wait, letting Rossi find a comfortable moment to broach whatever subject was uppermost in his mind.

"And I'll tell you before we leave. Promise." He pointed his chin in the direction he wanted to go. "Let's walk."

They made their way deeper into the grounds. Hotch noticed when Rossi's hand took a place on his back. It pressed against him firmly; more like a gauge of his body's movement than a light, companionable touch. _Wow. I must've freaked him out last time. Either that or he thinks I'm a real weenie who passes out in graveyards._ The Unit Chief smiled, appreciating the demonstration of care, even if he felt it was unwarranted. He stood tall and strode confidently.

Until it hit him.

Until Rossi felt the tremor beneath his palm.

Rossi was glad he hadn't brought flowers. He needed both hands for Hotch.


	42. Lost and Found

Hotch felt Rossi's strong grip wrapped around him, keeping him upright, pulling him along.

He closed his eyes and fought the vertigo. Deep inside, like a captive bird's beating wings, panic was struggling upward…_Get away from here! Get away! GET AWAY!_

But things were spinning and he didn't know in which direction safety might lie. Nor did he know what the danger was that had every fiber of his soul screaming for retreat. But there was one solid reference point to cling to. Or rather, the reference point was clinging to him.

"D-Dave..."

"I'm here. I'm here, Aaron. I've got you. Just hang on."

Hotch wondered why Rossi's voice sounded so strange, as though he were exerting tremendous effort to maintain control. He felt himself being supported and coaxed step by step until the frantic wings pounding in his chest calmed to a flutter.

"Sit."

He did, bracing his elbows on his knees, leaning over until the feeling of being sucked into a vortex ebbed. Eyes closed, he could sense Rossi standing over him, one hand keeping its purchase on his back, rubbing a shoulder blade.

"Was it this bad last time?" Still that throaty, emotion-choked quality overlaying the older man's voice.

"Not quite." Hotch's breathing was shaky, but he managed a facsimile of a chuckle. "Last time I wasn't walking so fast. I started feeling weird and stopped. Still stumbled some trying to get back here." He patted the surface of the stone bench; the same one he'd taken refuge on during the previous visit to this home for the dead.

Rossi dropped down beside him. Slipping his arm around Hotch's waist, he pulled the younger man closer. He rested his chin on his friend's bent shoulder. After a moment, Hotch felt a slight pressure against the back of his head and realized a kiss had been laid on his hair. When he felt Rossi's body give a heave, like a single sob, he couldn't hold back any longer.

"What's going on? You have to tell me, Dave. Otherwise I'm gonna be seeing a doctor tomorrow and telling him there's something wrong with me. Don't make me go through that, okay?"

"I won't. I won't. Just give me a minute. Just let me hold you for a minute."

Hotch felt the arm around his waist tighten. Rossi's other arm reached in front of him, gripped his far shoulder and almost yanked him into one of the fiercest hugs he'd ever experienced. Something told him to let it happen, to respect the emotion it conveyed. After a while, Rossi's words came out on a sigh.

"Oh, God, Aaron. You have to understand that I have no idea what to believe…what's real anymore."

Hotch remained silent, but chilly cat paws padded their way up his spine. Rossi waited a few more minutes before he eased his hold. But he couldn't release Aaron completely. He needed physical contact while he tried to explain something he realized he'd never given serious credence before this moment. Spanning Hotch's chest with one hand, he pressed, raising him to a more upright position. With gentle, rubbing motions, he tried to calm the rapid heartbeat under his palm. Rossi debated how to begin, and decided to reference feelings from Hotch's past that could help him relate to the current situation.

"Aaron, remember how you felt when you found Jack alive and well? When you thought he might…just might…have been killed by Foyet, but then you found him?"

Hotch stiffened. The old doctor in upstate New York was the only person he'd ever told about what he still considered a shameful lapse…his greedy desire to keep Jack all to himself, to exclude even Haley. For a moment he wondered if the two older men had discussed him. He sincerely hoped not. If they had, it would put a damper on the freedom he felt around the elderly physician; the permission to drop his guard and be weakly, openly, completely human. Rossi's next words dispelled that concern, substituting confusion instead.

"That's how I feel now. I'm afraid to believe in something I want badly. You didn't get to see your son for months. It's been decades for me. And I had to live through seeing his body…my son's body. He was gone from my life and I accepted that and…I don't know. Oh, hell, I don't know _anything_ anymore." Once again, the arms tightened around Hotch. "I wanted him back. I wanted a son for so long. And then I met you. I don't know. I just don't know what all this means."

"I don't understand." Hotch's breathing was returning to normal. The vertigo was waning; Rossi's grip was making him feel solid again. _Dave's babbling! What the hell is he talking about?_

"Do you believe in reincarnation, Aaron?"

Hotch's head snapped around so quickly, the dizzying sensation almost reclaimed him.

Rossi looked into the dazed darkness of Aaron's eyes.

"That old doctor. He believes in it. More than believes. He's sure of it."

"Dave?"

"He says you're my son, Aaron." Rossi watched the eyes widen, unguarded, vulnerable. He took a deep breath. "He says you've been my son before. And you'll be my son again. He's sure of it. He says…" Rossi's voice cracked. "…he says we just missed each other this time around."

"So why do I feel…" Hotch realized he couldn't describe _how_ he felt. It was unique in his experience. He felt scared, insubstantial, as though something were swallowing his soul. He couldn't finish the sentence, opting instead to take a deep breath, release it slowly, and concentrate on the grounding sensation of Rossi's hand on his chest.

"I was told that if you were my son _now_, you wouldn't be able to tolerate being in the presence of my son…_then_." Rossi held his own breath and watched the younger man's eyes dart across some inner landscape. He was desperately afraid that he might have permanently altered their relationship for the worse. That the situation might be so repellently strange to Hotch that he'd be driven away; that the closeness they enjoyed so naturally might have been irretrievably damaged. Despite the blow given to his religious views by this incident, Rossi sent up a fervent prayer that he hadn't driven a wedge between himself and this man he'd wanted to foster from the moment he'd heard his eager, young voice laying out the details of one of his first cases with the FBI to the illustrious Agent Rossi.

Hotch's brain felt numb. He couldn't process this. He needed time to assess, to inspect, to turn the matter over and examine it from all sides, to gather more data, if such existed.

The only thing he was sure of was that there was now no doubt in his mind that he'd be accompanying Reid to that nameless, little settlement on the edge of nowhere. If answers existed, that's where he'd find them. But for the moment, for now, just to get through the shock, he did what he'd been taught…he compartmentalized.

And he remembered who'd trained him in the skill; who'd shepherded him into the BAU; who'd held him when he was hurt, and pushed him when he was stuck, and made no secret about loving him for no reason at all.

When he thought about fathers, he didn't count the beast who'd turned his childhood into a terror-filled morass of pain; who'd bequeathed him a lifetime supply of emotional scars. Hotch had to admit…the man sitting beside him now, holding him with a protectiveness that, growing up, he would have sold his soul for, was the only man who'd ever made him feel like a son.

Overwhelmed, Hotch nuzzled into his friend's shoulder, knowing it was okay if he felt like crying.

Rossi smiled and pressed the dark head closer, relieved to be the one Aaron turned to for refuge. Holes in his religion notwithstanding, he felt that silent prayer had just been answered.

xxxxxxx

J.J. held both Reid's hands, looking into eyes that were a little white around the edges, and with very little effort, could transform into twin pools of panic.

"She'll be fine, Spence. From what I've heard that weird, old doctor up there is practically a miracle worker. She'll be fine and you'll be great."

The only mother on the team, J.J. hadn't been surprised when Reid had shown up at her door that evening, fumbling his words and looking fearful. Her soft, gentle heart went out to him on a regular basis. She knew he'd grown up without a functional parent anywhere in sight. He had no role models other than the members of his team, his surrogate family.

And now the brilliant genius with the mind so gifted it defied description needed a mom. Badly.

He'd actually tried calling his own, but Diana Reid's response, although loving, had been tempered by distance and fatalistic philosophy.

"What will be, will be, Spencer. It doesn't do any good to worry. Que sera, sera." The slight blur in her voice told him her meds were at work. And the breezy sentiment of acceptance that brought to mind a sappy song from the fifties didn't do anything to quell the nerves of a man approaching the eve of his fatherhood.

He needed hugs and lies.

So even if J.J. had no idea what was in store, or how everything would turn out, she held onto her friend and spoke comforting words of reassurance.

"Spence, a few days from now it'll all be over and you'll have a family; a family totally your own. And it'll be healthy and happy and pretty damn extraordinary." The white-rimmed eyes didn't quite buy it. She released his hands and took his face between gentle palms instead, pulling him closer, almost nose to nose.

"Spencer Reid, do you think for a minute that I would have made you Henry's godfather, if I didn't know in my heart that you'd take care of him better than anyone else I know? If I wasn't sure that you'd make a spectacular father?" She shook him just a little. "Do you?"

And finally, J.J. won a tentative smile. "No. Guess not."

She latched onto the subject, hoping to distance Reid a bit more from incipient panic. "So have _you_ thought about godparents? For Melinda?"

The smile grew and blossomed. "Yeah. I get to pick the godfather, and Ana gets to choose the godmother."

J.J. sat back and raised questioning brows. "And?"

"A-a-a-nd…Ana chose her childhood friend, Cindy. Remember? She was Ana's maid of honor at the wedding."

J.J. nodded. She'd liked Cindy. She'd sensed a devotion and loyalty in her that would follow Ana and bind the two women together for a lifetime. "Good. Who'd _you_ choose?"

"Haven't asked him yet. Thought I'd wait until Melinda was actually here. But…" Reid looked around as though checking for eavesdropping spies. "I want Hotch to be godfather. If he'll accept, that is."

"Of course he will, Spence. He'll be thrilled. I think he's secretly always wanted a daughter to tower over and protect." She leaned forward and hugged her young friend's neck. "I'm so happy for you. Proud, too. You're gonna do great as a dad."

Before he could respond, Reid's phone shrilled from the depths of his jacket pocket. He fished it out and froze, panic once again threatening to surface and swamp the fragile calm J.J. had managed to instill.

"Spence?"

"It's Bennington Sanitarium." His voice was strained. "Something about my mom." Eyes fixed on J.J., he took the call. "Hello?"

"Dr. Reid? Dr. Spencer Reid?"

"Yes."

"This is Bennington Sani…"

"I _know_ who it is. What's wrong?" Even J.J. flinched at the sharp edge anxiety lent to normally soft-spoken Reid.

"You mother would like to speak to you."

Tension drained out of him with an exasperated exhalation. As the phone changed hands in Las Vegas, Reid realized he could breathe again. "Mom? You okay?"

Diana sounded clear and close and concise. "Spencer. Of course I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?" She continued in a brisk way that still managed to convey warmth. "You'll be busy tomorrow and for the next few weeks, so you don't need to waste time keeping me in the loop. She's going to be fine. And she's going to have your eyes. And you are going to be a wonderful, wonderful father."

Reid blinked, wondering if, despite the rational tone and delivery, his mother's damaged mentality was speaking.

A chuckle accompanied Diana Reid's final words. "A mother knows, Spencer. A mother _always_ knows." The call ended on the familiar words that had followed Reid throughout his life, but had only recently begun to haunt him. They had unsettled him with their implication that his mother might possess some sort of precognitive gift. They'd made him question the provenance of his own psychic talents.

But this time, they gave him what he'd been missing. Reid finally had a mother's loving comfort to send him on his way, to give him strength as he ushered in the next chapter of his life.


	43. New Life, Old Love

Redblack...dark...

Redblack...muffled...

Redblack...vibration...

Redblack...warm...

Redblack...move...

Redblack...Move...

...MOVE...

She had always traveled. Without thought. Without effort. By psychic instinct. By psychic smell and psychic touch. She'd found him once. He was perfect. She loved him. But then something had happened. She couldn't reach him. She knew he was there, but she couldn't fall into him anymore. Something stopped her.

She could feel him now. He was coming. He was still denied her. Her psyche was held at bay. But she could move in other ways now. She had a body. There were others that called to her, too. But him…he was special, beloved…perfect.

Out there.

She had to go Out There. Everything was waiting. Everyone. Him. Beautiful him. Beautiful Him began with a sound like rough velvet, a soft growl. _Errrrr…Errrrr…_

_Errrr…unnnn…_

She would love him forever. Even if she couldn't touch him at the moment, she loved Beautiful Him.

Forever.

_Errrr…unnnn…_

Forever.

Until then everything was…

Redblack...warm...

Redblack...dark...

xxxxxxxxx

J.J. had been hoping that _this_ time she'd be the one to accompany the band of BAU travelers to the psychic sanctuary that had come to figure so prominently in the lives of Reid, Ana, Hotch and Rossi. But Rossi recalled the doctor's wish to discourage any more new visitors unless circumstances made their presence unavoidable, as when Hotch's damaged mind had required the doctor's special brand of help.

So J.J., Garcia, Prentiss and Morgan had seen the three men off. Reid had been understandably dazed. Looking a little lost, he'd sometimes needed things repeated before he'd hear them. He'd needed to be shepherded along. Clearly, his mind was elsewhere. Hugs and well-wishes followed his nervous, bemused departure.

It was Hotch who'd baffled them.

He was as distracted as Reid, but with a subtle difference. The prospective father was looking outward and forward, his telepathy unable to stop itself from reaching toward his wife, despite knowing his efforts were defeated by the distance between them. The Unit Chief's mind was focused inward, searching himself for proof of something when no proof was possible; at least, none of a concrete nature.

Hotch's career was centered around evidence that could be presented in a court of law. He functioned on logical assumption and downplayed his natural intuition, letting it give him private guidance, but always granting tangible proof prominence in his professional life. After Rossi's revelation, he felt unmoored and he was haunted by a phantom of that insubstantial, transitory sensation that had assaulted him in the graveyard.

He found no answers within himself. He hoped that there would be some waiting upstate. But he'd settle for reassurance and a restoration of feeling grounded and substantial. Hotch sighed. He knew he was acting a little distant, but he couldn't help it. Right now he felt like dandelion fluff. The slightest breath might send him spinning away.

When Rossi took his arm and steered him around obstacles and into a seat on the plane which was the first leg of their journey, Hotch was grateful. Dave was his anchor. Dave wouldn't let him float away without a fight.

xxxxxxxx

Wednesday was drawing to a close when the three travelers pulled up in front of Millie's B&B.

"Go. We'll get the luggage." Rossi cut the engine of their rental and watched Reid explode from the backseat, careen around the front of the car, and bound up the porch steps like a cross between a colt and a greyhound. He turned to look at the man in the passenger seat.

Hotch was letting his eyes roam over the street. Nothing had changed. He wondered if anything ever did. The quaint, slightly worn shops and services; the B&B and at the end, marking a boundary between so many things…the hospital. In Hotch's mind it held a nebulous place situated at the juncture of real and unreal, past and present, possible and impossible. It was also where that comfortable, old man spent the lion's share of his time. Hotch felt drawn to it, to him. He also felt Rossi's hand as it settled on his shoulder.

"How're you holding up, Aaron?"

Before Hotch could offer his usual "I'm okay," the front door of the B&B burst open. Reid pelted down the stairs and sped up the street toward the hospital, going at a lope worthy of a cheetah. The two agents in the car locked eyes.

Rossi turned the key and gunned the engine, ready to follow the blur that was Reid. A familiar voice bubbling with eager cheer stopped him.

"Yoooo-HOOOOOO! Mr. Rosie…Dave!...Wait! Wait!" Millie was coming down the steps at a much more sedate pace, yet it still qualified as hurrying for her. "Wait! Wait!"

Hotch rolled down his window and pressed himself back into his seat, letting Rossi have a clearer view and allowing him to take the lead in any conversation. He wasn't aware that one of his hands had automatically moved to rest against the waistband of his pants, giving protective coverage to the boxers that lay beneath. Subconsciously, the Unit Chief would always associate the B&B owner with the threat of having his underwear invaded; a souvenir of his first stay on the premises when his depleted physical state had combined with Rossi's mischievous desire to embarrass him. His hand remained firmly in place while Millie hailed her Mr. Rosie again.

"Wait!"

Rossi was a master at projecting impatience while still adhering to manners and gentlemanly conduct. "Good evening, Miss Millie. I'm afraid waiting is the one thing we can't do right now…"

"Yes, you can! Oh, dear!" Puffing from exertion, the plump, little matron fanned herself with one flour-dusted hand. The arrival of her FBI friends had interrupted an afternoon of baking. "Goodness, you people! So…FAST!...I tried to tell the youngster that his wife is fine, but as soon as he realized she'd already left to be under the doctor's care, he was GONE!"

Millie craned her neck down and made eye contact with Hotch. She smiled with fond remembrance. "He's quite like you, Mr. Hutchiner. When you flew off that bed so suddenly when you were ill and needed care? Remember? Goodness gracious! You people are so…so…_reactive_!"

"I remember." Hotch's reply was a mere murmur. He regarded the woman with mournful eyes, wondering if the incident of the sponge bath would ever recede into a comfortably hazy past.

Rossi was enjoying himself immensely, especially when he noticed the protective position of Hotch's hand.

"It's good to see you again, Millie. I think we'll go check on our friend, just to be sure, and to pay our respects to Ana, but then do you think you can stand us for a few days?"

"Oh, Dave! That would be _so_ nice."

The way Mr. Rosie smiled at her, made Millie wish a few days could last forever.

xxxxxxxxx

Reid's speed was driven in part by a very real panic.

He should have been able to contact Ana telepathically by now. In fact, he should have been able to do it while they were on the road, before arriving in this tiny town. But he couldn't find her, and as each second passed, her absence instilled almost mythic proportions of loss, and heartache, and terror in him.

Mercifully, before he crashed through the hospital's front doors, his mind was gripped by the deep, oceanic power of the one person, other than Ana, who could quell his fears. His headlong flight was arrested. Panting, he stumbled to a stop almost as though the strange, old doctor had taken control of his muscles as well as his mind.

_Telepath! Stop. Your wife is fine. Your daughter is fine. When you arrive, I'll bring her up and you can see for yourself._

"_Bring her up?" What are you doing to her?!_

_Her pain has begun. I'm holding it away from her._ Reid heard the warm thrumming of a telepathic chuckle. _With her permission, of course. Be calm. Something wonderful is about to enter your life._

_Thank you. I'm almost there._

_I've told her so. She waits._

xxxxxxxxx

When he saw her, she was so still and quiet his panic almost returned.

But then Ana smiled. Eyes closed, in bed, braced and propped with pillows, the doctor's palm resting lightly on her forehead, Reid's wife smiled a small, peaceful signal that all was well.

_Spencer! You made it in time!_

He sat on the bed beside her. Leaning over, he brushed his lips across her eyelids until they opened. She drank the sight of him with greed, and love, and joy that was tinged with fear of the unknown thing that was about to happen to her.

_I told you I'd be here no matter what._

Her fingers twined with his. _Yeah, but sometimes things happen with your job. And I made myself a promise that I'd never hold that against you. _The smile turned a bit wicked._…but I might have._

_Not as much as __**I**__ would have._ As Reid watched, her fingers tightened on his with painful, crushing pressure. She bit her lip and grimaced. _Ana?!_

_She's fine, telepath. This is how it begins._

Reid ducked his head in chagrin. _I know that. But it's different when it's, well,…when it's __**mine. My**__ wife. __**My**__ baby._

Again the mental rumble that felt like mirth._ Everything is as it should be. _The doctor's hand moved against Ana's brow. _I'm putting her back under. She'll be well rested when it happens._

Reid tore his eyes from his wife's and looked at the calm, old man whose complete lack of anxiety did so much to allay Reid's own. _When will it be?_

_Tomorrow. I'll sit with her through the night. She won't know you're here, so you should go to Millie's and get some sleep._

_No._

_She won't know you're here._

_My daughter will._

The doctor studied the young man before him for a moment before nodding. _You might be right, telepath. _He smiled. _Alright. Stay._

Besides, he could still recall centuries past when he'd become a father for the first time. No power on earth could have made him leave his Catherine. What had separated them many years later was Death. It had been such a final and terrible leave-taking. Like losing the ability to feel warmth or to laugh. But since meeting Aaron and his once-and-future-father, whose multiple lives were so clearly defined, so visible, the doctor was more certain than he'd ever been that even Death was a transitory state.

_And maybe if I had let myself pass from this life instead of extending it in defiance of all natural laws, Catherine and I would have already met again. And again. And even once more after that._

It was something to think about.

In the meantime, he watched the young telepath and almost envied him the desperate depth of love that was making his aura sparkle and shimmer like a blizzard of fireflies.


	44. Defying the Doctor

Reid dozed off.

Knees folded under him, he sat on the floor by Ana's bed. He'd taken the position in order to be as close as possible, face to face, without disturbing the doctor's touch.

Earlier, Hotch and Rossi had stopped in for a few minutes. When they saw Ana was in no shape to receive visitors, they'd milled about uncertainly, reluctant to leave Reid on his own.

The doctor had let a slow smile spread to its widest when the two men appeared.

"Aaron." A touch of sadness crept into the smile. "Ahhhh. You've been told." He sent a pulse of warm comfort to caress Hotch, but the old man could tell it wasn't nearly enough. The crinkled eyes turned to Rossi next. "When we have welcomed this little one to the light, the three of us will talk. Until then, Julio should be your next stop. He's at Millie's…" The doctor's head tilted, listening. "…and he's ready for you."

Before returning his attention to Ana, he had addressed Hotch once more. "Don't worry, child. You feel lost…" The smile recaptured its full, confident joy. "…but _this_…," his glance encompassed the entire space and implied inclusion of the whole town. "…_This_ is the best of all possible places to find oneself." When Hotch still looked doubtful, the doctor's voice softened. "What I find marvelous, troubles you. What I consider an incredible gift, disturbs you. It _will_ pass, Aaron. If nothing else, let the birth of this remarkable child remind you of the endless cycle of which you are part."

Hotch nodded, still not able to surrender completely to the idea of being Rossi's reincarnated son. But the doctor noticed that when the older agent draped an arm around Aaron's shoulders, preparatory to leaving the room, he not only put up no resistance, but almost snuggled into the embrace a little bit more.

_He'll be fine. The father has had more time to consider the prospect of having a son again, but they'll both be fine. It will be fascinating to read their growing acceptance of something that alters their concept of reality. _

_And it will bestow a type of love that neither should have been denied._

xxxxxxxx

Reid jerked awake, stiff and momentarily disoriented.

Seeing Ana's peaceful face filling his field of vision, for a moment he thought they were at home and he was waking up in his own bed, seeing the sight that he never took for granted. _Someone loved me enough to marry me! ME!_ And then he'd begin his day with a private, little thrill of happiness.

But something was different this morning. He wasn't _in _bed. And he was forgetting something. Something important. When it hit him, his sleepy brain raced at the pace of panic. _TODAY! My God it's TODAY! I become a father TODAY!_

The now familiar rumble-chuckle overrode Reid's leaping thoughts and suddenly pounding heart._ Telepath, calm yourself. It will be some hours yet before you meet your daughter. I suggest you go to Millie's. Check on your friends. Eat some breakfast. Shower. When you return, if I think you're refreshed enough, I'll ask you if you want to travel this journey __**with**__ your wife._

Reid's recently recovered cognitive processes promptly returned to a state of shock.

_Huh?_

_Would you like to experience this __**with**__ her?_

Silence, accompanied by Reid's blinking eyes and hanging jaw.

_You're a powerful telepath. Surely you know you can link minds with your wife during the birth?_

_I…I…I… _The eyelids had stopped their rapid motion. The jaw was still having some trouble regaining function. Brain, too.

The doctor shook his head, smiling to himself. _All that intellect. All that power. And the advent of a tiny, little child has reduced him to…__**this**__. _The humorous tint of the old man's thoughts robbed them of any sting. He watched Reid pull himself to his feet, feeling the stiffness that had entered his muscles as he kept vigil beside his wife. _As I said: go. Take care of yourself and return in…_The hand on Ana's forehead pressed more firmly for a moment. _…in three hours._

Stunned, the only thing Reid could do was brush a kiss across his beloved's still lips and stumble for the door.

xxxxxxxx

It had been a long night for Hotch. The only reason he slept at all was that he'd failed to do so during the previous one. After Rossi had broached the subject of reincarnation, the Unit Chief had spent the night lying in bed, staring into the dark and trying to access something, _anything_ within himself that might corroborate that he was Rossi's son. All he'd got for his efforts were dark circles under his eyes and a brain that had lost its edge, blurred by fatigue.

When the agents had returned to the B&B, Julio Ruiz was ready and waiting, a small Palo Mayombe altar now occupied the corner of his permanent quarters under Millie's roof; a disappointment to which his landlady was resigned.

Millie had looked forward to exotic ceremonies lit by dancing flames in the depths of a star-filled night…attended by an entire town of curious onlookers who would realize how extraordinary the B&B proprietress' connections to the outside world were. She had drawn up plans for a gazebo that would complement the design of her house, simultaneously providing an elevated stage for the Palero priest to perform his devotions. But in the end she'd had to accept Mr. Roolies' explanation that his religion was not a performance art, nor did he conduct rites on a schedule. The _orishas_ were only to be called at need, not at whim.

With Hotch onsite, and the child whose psyche adored him about to be born…there was need.

Julio had ignored the usual pleasantries and greetings. Instead he'd strode up to Hotch as soon as he and Rossi entered the foyer and grabbed his wrist, pulling it up and pushing back the sleeve in one practiced motion.

"I will bring more energy for your protection." He'd lifted the bracelet close to his eyes, inspecting something Hotch could only guess at. Then he'd placed a hand alongside the agent's cheek, holding him in place while he examined his face.

"First, you will eat." The Palero shook his head in frustration. "You wear yourself out. You lay yourself open to ghosts and spirits by weakening your defenses. Not good."

What followed was dinner prepared by Millie and Rossi who had no trouble picking up where they'd left off …enjoying each other's company in the kitchen. Afterwards, Julio had pulled Hotch upstairs to his room. From the parlor, Rossi and their hostess could hear chanting and stomping. Stringent aromas of burning oils and herbs wafted down the stairs. When Rossi cast a wary look at the second floor, wondering if he should check on Hotch, Millie allayed his fears.

"Don't worry. It's just a lot of noise and incense as far as I can tell." She smiled and sipped her tea. "If Mr. Hutchiner feels threatened in any way, I'm sure he'll be able to escape. As I recall, he can move _very_ quickly when he wants to." A considering look came over her face. "Although he _does_ look a little under the weather, Dave." She leaned forward, inviting confidences. "_Is_ he alright? Would you like me to look after him? Give him a little extra care?"

Rossi smiled, tempted by the opportunity to enlist Millie's participation once again in an embarrassing, Hotch-oriented prank. Then he remembered the company picnic that had overrun his home. And the fluffy, pastel bedroom, and mounted unicorn head that had so recently afflicted his life. He looked at the face peering at him with such an earnest desire to help. He was _sorely_ tempted. But he was still finding the occasional sequin buried in the carpeting of his home. It was too soon to wage another battle.

"Thank you, Miss Millie, but that's the way he always looks: a little damaged, a little worn. He's fine."

"Hmmmmm. Pity." The B&B owner, who prided herself on her nursing skills, settled back in her chair. "That young man needs to let go of some of his shyness. Ah, well. Maybe next time."

"Next time," Rossi echoed with a regretful sigh for what could have been a memorable and richly deserved moment in his private war against his fox-faced adversary.

xxxxxxxxxx

The next morning, Reid dragged in while the others were gathered around the breakfast table. He was running on nervous energy, which became evident while responding to questions regarding Ana's welfare.

"He says she's fine, but she's so quiet and still and while he's got her I can't reach her mind and this isn't like any of the videos we watched or the stuff we read and he asked me if I wanted to experience the birth with her and he said it's gonna be in about three hours and…"

"_WHAT?_" Both Rossi and Hotch interrupted the anxious tirade.

"Huh?" Reid swayed a little, unsure which of his worries was being questioned.

"Reid! Focus! 'Experience the birth _with_ her?'"

"Yeah."

The older agents shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Hormone-deep aversion to the idea raised every male hair on the back of their necks.

Reid blinked, tempted to read the thoughts around him, but knowing he shouldn't. Especially when it came to Hotch. "Anyway, he told me to come here and eat and go back in…three hours…Guys! In three hours I'm gonna be a dad! I…I…I…"

Rossi and Hotch were on their feet, steadying their young friend to a chair at the table.

"Breathe, Reid." Hotch knelt by his side. "Remember what I said? You're gonna fall in love like you never have before. In three hours, you'll be happier than you've ever been. Think of it like that."

Rossi poured a cup of coffee from the large pot sitting on Millie's sideboard. He slid it in front of Reid and patted his shoulder. "Drink that. And eat something. And then we'll talk about this 'experiencing the birth' thing."

"Okay. Okay. Yeah. Okay." Reid picked up the cup in shaking hands and sipped, eyes vacant as he tried to imagine every possible outcome of the day. But it was useless.

He was too nervous to bring his incredible intellect to bear on anything more complicated than coffee.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Redblack…too warm…

Redblack…not enough room…

Redblack…want to see other colors…

Redblack…

Beautiful Him. Out There. Close.

But now she knows she can get closer.

She has the power to do so.

MOVE.

Find _Errrr…unnnn…_

Now. NOW.

xxxxxxxxxx

The old doctor frowned.

He pressed his palm more tightly against his patient's forehead. After a moment, the frown faded, replaced by a slightly bemused, but genuinely happy smile.

_So, little one. You've made up your mind. Very few have ever had the strength to defy me._ He closed his eyes, examining timelines, probabilities, and potential. His smile widened.

_You have a great deal of love in your heart. And love is what calls you now. Very well._

_We begin…_

xxxxxxxx

Millie placed some toast and eggs in front of Reid. Hotch and Rossi were monitoring his coffee intake. One sip. Two sips.

Reid's and Julio's heads snapped up, eyes locking on each other.

The Palero nodded. "Go."

Reid bolted from his seat, sending his cup flying, its contents spilling across Millie's creamy, lace tablecloth. He was out the door and gone before either senior agent could react.

"What the hell?" Rossi turned toward Julio, whose grin flashed white.

"The doctor calls. It seems the child refuses to wait any longer."

Hotch and Rossi both rose, headed for the door, but Julio's hand on his arm pulled Hotch back. "I understand your wish to be there for your friend, but you will do so only with my touch upon you." The Palero's smoky eyes snapped with authority. He gave Hotch a gentle shake. "Do you understand?"

"No."

"Doesn't matter. You will do as I say in this. For the safety of all." Grabbing a jacket and draping it over one arm, Julio tightened his hold on Hotch as he propelled him toward the front door.

Rossi had stopped when he realized the younger agent hadn't kept up. "Aaron? You okay?"

But it was Julio who answered. "I'll make sure he is. That is my part in what comes next."


	45. Love Child

Reid was so nervous he would have forgotten his own name, if people hadn't kept shouting it at him.

"Reid! You sure you're gonna be okay?"

_Spencer! This is it!_

"Reid! Remember! The first time you hold her, it'll all be worth it!"

_Telepath, I don't think you're rested…strong enough… for this…_

_Spencer!_

_I __**am**__ strong enough! Ana? Ana, I'm here. I'm with you…_

"Reid! Breathe!"

_Julio, take them to the lobby. The child will be confused to hear so many thoughts so close. She should hear only her parents at first. And keep ahold of Aaron. Just in case._

So the Palero had hustled Hotch and Rossi away, and Reid had taken a deep, shaky breath and joined his mind to Ana's. But the doctor's assessment of his depleted state had been accurate. Ana sensed it on top of everything else she was feeling. It was too much to have the additional worry of her husband when all she wanted was to center and focus on herself and the child demanding its independence.

_NO, Spencer! NO!_

_But…?_

_I said 'NO,' and I __**meant**__ it. No time to explain! I love you…but… I'm BUSY! NO!_

Crestfallen, Reid pulled back and turned limpid, forlorn eyes on the doctor. _She said 'no.'_

The tidal force of the old man's mental chuckle gave some slight reassurance. _Telepath, in this matter she is the final authority. Even I would hesitate to gainsay a mother-in-the-making._ He glanced up at the troubled, young man. _Next time._

Reid swallowed, feeling a wave of dizziness. _**Next**__ time?!_

The doctor's lips quirked upward in amusement. _Three years from now. You'll have to be patient and wait, telepath…for your son._

At that point Reid could only sink to his knees beside Ana's bed, a quivering bundle of nerves and shock, resigned to lending support in the most banal, traditional, but wonderful way. Because it was what his wife, the mother of his child…children!... required.

_Children. I'm going to have more than one. Ana's going to do this again. I…we…she…I…_

xxxxxxxx

Rossi and Hotch sat in the lobby, waiting.

Julio stood behind Hotch's chair, his hands resting on the agent's shoulders. Every few minutes they would move, roaming from collarbones to shoulder blades to neck. Hotch didn't like being handled on a good day. At the moment he was tired, worried, and still uncertain how he felt about the whole reincarnation issue. He was getting annoyed. Finally, when one hand traveled down to mid-chest and pressed over his heart, he snapped.

"Is this really necessary?" He tried to twist in his seat, to address the Palero directly. He was surprised when the hands exerted more power than he'd thought they possessed, arresting his movement, holding him in place.

"Yes." Julio's voice rumbled right back at the Unit Chief's; two alphas growling. "I have always thought you a stubborn man, but never a stupid one. Don't change my opinion of you now."

Rossi bent forward, craning his neck around to look into Hotch's face. "Relax, Aaron. Try to think of it as a massage."

Hotch grunted, leaving no doubt that he wasn't a fan of his masseur.

The hands hesitated, then gave an almost affectionate squeeze. "I'm sorry. I forget how strange this place and what we do here must seem to you." Julio sounded genuinely apologetic. "The child is strong. We have nothing against which to measure such a one. She may do harm without intending. Innocence can be very dangerous when joined by desire, and the power to satisfy that desire." Julio's hands moved again. "She wants you. I will do my best to protect you; to make sure the doctor has a chance to communicate to her why she must not force herself on you."

Hotch's brows drew together. He gave Rossi a sidelong look while he considered the Palero's words.

"You mean Melinda's going to _attack_ me?"

"Yes." Julio felt the muscles under his fingers tense. He sensed a combination of skepticism and fear coming from the agent. He sighed. "So, you will let me keep watch as I must, and guard your spirit, yes?"

"Yes." Hotch swallowed. "Thank you."

A friendly pat acknowledged his gratitude. "It is right to be concerned. But know that this child means you no harm. She brings much love with her. This I know."

"Uh-huh." Hotch wasn't really listening anymore. He was remembering Reid's ghosts and wondering if he should have stayed in Quantico after all. But Rossi's hand patting his knee reminded him of the other reason for this trip. _Lives beginning, lives recycling. How can you tell which is which? Is there a difference? Has Melinda already been here? Does it even matter?_ Hotch looked at Rossi, reading an amalgam of concern, protectiveness, and love deep in his friend's eyes.

And Hotch decided it didn't matter who they were or where they came from. All that mattered was the joy they took in each other's existence now. And that included the good times as well as the unfortunate times…the times when unicorns raised their ugly, purple heads.

xxxxxxxx

Reid began to understand Ana's rejection of his offer to accompany her through childbirth.

The first cry of pain tore at him. He turned a pleading look on the old doctor. _Can't you stop it?! Help her!_

_This is her choice, telepath. Control yourself. She feels your concern, but she can't communicate at the moment._ He smiled in sympathy and used the empath's own words. _She's busy just now_. The doctor mused to himself as he monitored all three psyches. The man was focused on his wife. The woman was focused on her child. The child was _more_ focused than any he'd ever encountered. Her mental presence was formidable.

Reid suffered each scream, holding on to Ana with desperation born of the helpless inability to protect her from pain. He appealed to the doctor again, almost begging. _Please. Please help her!_

_Telepath, I __**can**__ stop this…remove her from the pain. But she asked to experience it and I __**am**__ keeping in touch with her. She hasn't changed her mind. _

It seemed like an eternity later when Ana's final cry gave Reid an idea of why his wife had chosen as she did. There was joy and triumph mingled with the sound of agony. Abruptly, she stopped blocking his telepathic touch. A wave of pure, unconditional bliss poured from her, sweeping over him and washing away every fear, every worry, every doubt.

_Spencer, look what we did._

When the small bundle was laid against her panting chest and her arms closed around it, he finally understood. She'd wanted the experience; she'd given equal import to journey and destination, to _becoming_ a mother and to _being_ a mother.

The auras mesmerized him. Gold and lavender and flashes of a strange, electric blue.

He didn't realize he was crying until Ana nuzzled against him, raising her head to kiss the tears away. He wrapped his arms over and around hers, forming a concentricity. Together they held their daughter. Melinda had wailed, as all babies do, but her cries were short-lived.

_My God, Ana! Do you feel her? Her mind?_

_Yes._ Ana laughed a breathy, tired, joyful sound, and couldn't stop.

Nestled in her parents arms, many things were emanating from remarkable Melinda. But first and foremost was curiosity; the greedy appetite of a brain that would never be sated.

The doctor watched from a respectful few steps away and smiled.

_She is her father's daughter. And she is going to keep her parents __**very**__ busy._

…_Julio?..._

xxxxxxxxx

Rossi and Hotch knew when the moment of birth occurred. It was when Julio wrapped his arms around Hotch's chest and bent his head, muttering what could have been either imprecations or incantations with furious concentration. After a few anxious minutes, the Palero straightened. After a few more, he released his stranglehold, resting his fingertips on Hotch with the lightest of touches.

"It is done." He slapped Hotch's shoulder in a gesture of happy camaraderie.

"He's okay?" Rossi put a tentative hand on his friend's back.

"Yes." The flashing smile fled. Julio picked up Hotch's wrist, bringing the bracelet between them. "That does _not_ mean you may abandon this other protection." He searched the Unit Chief's level gaze. "The doctor has made her understand for now, but she is only a child. We cannot know how long she will obey. Yes?"

Hotch nodded. "Yes. And again, thank you."

Julio's smile returned, eyes crinkling with humor. "The doctor says there is someone you should meet."

Hotch and Rossi rose. Imagining Reid as a proud papa, it was hard to say which man's grin was widest.

xxxxxxxx

The three men hovered in the doorway, watching the new family.

A tired, sweaty Ana looked radiantly happy watching her husband cradle his daughter in his arms, solo, for the very first time. Reid couldn't stop the tears tracking down his cheeks. And he didn't care. When he looked up, his eyes locked with Hotch's.

"You were right. It hurts. This much love hurts."

Hotch smiled, letting a little moisture enter his own eyes. He felt Rossi's hand against his back and couldn't keep the word _father_ from drifting across his mind.

_Spencer, it's time._

Ana's words meant something entirely different from when she'd first startled her husband with them.

Reid edged off the bedside, taking more than special care with his most precious possession held close to his body. Eyes fastened on the tiny face, he took the few steps necessary to bring him to the men at the door. He stood before Hotch and pressed the tiny bundle toward him. The Unit Chief's hands reached out to receive the honor of being the first person outside immediate family entrusted with their child. He looked down and felt an echo of the overpowering love that had made Reid cry. He almost didn't hear the new father speak.

"Hotch?"

"Hmmm?"

"Godfather?"

Hotch looked up, surprised. "Really?"

Reid laughed and sniffed back some of his tears. "I want you. Ana wants you. And most of all, Melinda wants you. So, yeah…really."

In all the years he'd known Hotch, Rossi had seen him overcome by happiness, unable to keep it from lighting him up like a torch exactly once…when his own son had been born. Now, at long, long last, there was an encore.

xxxxxxx

Feeling every year of his ancient age, the doctor watched the new parents bestow the honored title of godfather on Aaron. He felt the deep welling of joy in the man and was glad for him. Too much of his life had been sorrowful.

The doctor didn't pay much attention to names… transitory labels that they were. But he would need to fill out a birth certificate, albeit a partial one. The parents would have to choose another town as the official birthplace. He would never allow his sanctuary to be documented. But he would need the names. He stepped closer to the mother's bedside.

_So her name is to be Melinda then?_

Ana smiled up at him, knowing why he asked. _Yes. She is Melinda Catherine Reid._

The doctor couldn't recall the last time someone had surprised him with such kindness. Nor could he recall the last time someone had provoked tears in his eyes that had seen too much to cry easily. He touched the new mother's upturned face with gentle fingers.

_Thank you. For honoring my beloved Catherine. Thank you…Ana…Ana Reid._

Rossi watched the doctor brush away a few tears, but didn't think twice, unaware of what a rare phenomenon he witnessed. He was feeling a few of his own as he watched Aaron rock his goddaughter.

Only Reid felt the satisfied hum in his child's mind as she dozed. _Errrr…unnnn…Errrr…unnnn…_ He might have been jealous except for the other things he could see within her, now that she was here and entirely herself. When she needed strength and support, protection and love, she would turn to her parents.

But when she needed a friend whose soul was in perfect harmony with her own, she would turn to her godfather for a very special brand of sympathetic comfort.

Reid was happy he'd chosen Hotch.

In fact, Reid was happier than he'd ever been before, just as Hotch had said he'd be. Almost as though he knew Reid's thoughts, the new godfather spoke in a quiet rumble.

"Just wait until she calls you 'Daddy' the first time." Hotch looked up with tender, overfull eyes. "That's gonna hurt, too. In a really great way."


	46. Cries From the Past

The doctor watched as newborn Melinda was held by Hotch, then Rossi, then her father again. When she was passed back into her mother's arms, he made the reluctant decision to continue on with the regular duties that claimed his days, and sometimes his nights.

It wasn't often that he was afforded the pleasure of bringing a new life into the world; the norm for this sanctuary was to draw patients of an entirely different kind.

"It's time to give the new parents some privacy now."

_Thank you, doctor. _Ana's eyelids were beginning to droop. _I __**am**__ feeling a little tired._

_Out loud, children. It's never too early to demonstrate proper courtesy. You have an example to set now that you've increased your number._

_Sorry. _Reid apologized on his wife's behalf; she was already snuggling down for a nap, Melinda nestled against her. "Guys, Ana needs rest. I'm gonna stay here, but I guess we'll join up later at Millie's?"

"Sounds good." Rossi took Hotch's arm. The Unit Chief had a delightfully sappy smile and seemed transfixed, unable to tear his gaze from the tiny newcomer's face. "C'mon, Aaron. You can see her again later."

The doctor and Julio were already in the hallway. Rossi pulled happy Hotch after him. At the door, he stopped and took a last look at the newly formed tableau of parents and child.

"Congratulations, Reid. You have a beautiful family."

"Thanks, Rossi."

As his wife and daughter rested, Reid pulled out his phone and began a series of quietly joyful calls to his mother, in-laws and team. He would wait for Ana to go into detail, but for the moment, it felt so good to simply say… "She's here. Melinda's finally here. And she's beautiful."

xxxxxxxxxxxx

_Errrrr…unnnn…Errrrr…unnnn…_

She felt him leave the room. Beautiful Him. But warm against her mother, she was content. She raised her tiny nose and sniffled a bit. She wasn't supposed to touch Beautiful Him too much, but she could 'see' so clearly…a time when touching him would be important. When he would ask for it. She didn't understand, but she saw it.

Melinda saw much that defied her undeveloped cognitive processes. But she would figure it out. For now it was enough to know that the souls closest to her…Partly Him and Partly Her and Beautiful Him…were safe and happy.

She could sleep. And dream. And wait for the time when Beautiful Him called her.

xxxxxxxx

In the hallway, the doctor closed the door, giving the Reids, all three of them, some quiet time. Noting the slaphappy look on Hotch's face, he decided to address Rossi; the older man was under less of a spell and would likely be more able to grasp and act on the doctor's request. Aaron was too enthralled with his new goddaughter to be of much use.

"I have patients to see, but I _would_ like to talk with you and your…son." He saw no reason to avoid naming the relationship between the two men. He could understand their reluctance to have it known outside this special, little community, but here and now the doctor considered it worthy of private celebration. The father already seemed pleased with the concept. He hoped, eventually, Aaron would feel the same way. Merely in passing, the doctor sensed Aaron loved his father, but there was a darkness lurking beneath the sentiment that was depriving the son of the joy he deserved.

The old man placed a companionable hand on Rossi's shoulder. "Dine at Millie's and then come to my house. If I'm not there, go in and make yourselves at home." He gave the older agent a sly wink. "You know where I keep my scotch." After giving Hotch a considered look, he added, "And make sure Aaron drinks some of it."

_The day has been overly emotional, but he still needs a little unsolicited encouragement to let go of his private pain. He needs a push._

xxxxxxxxx

There was a bite in the air that had a sharpness to it; a promise of winter. But the sky was spectacular: dark velvet sprinkled with points of fire. The two men walked beneath it, each in his own world.

Rossi looked up and sensed the infinity at which the stars hinted. It seemed appropriate at a time when the themes of life, death, regeneration and eternity were uppermost in his mind.

"It's a beautiful night, Aaron."

Hotch studied his feet as they walked toward the doctor's house. Thoughts turned inward, he was contemplating taking the stance of Devil's Advocate in the discussion he suspected would take place once the doctor joined them. He knew there was no way to prove reincarnation. Not in a way he considered proof to be positive, anyway. What he didn't understand was why he felt so resistant to the idea.

"Hey." Rossi pushed at him, upsetting his balance just enough to interrupt his concentration.

Hotch stopped, turning an accusatory look on his companion. He'd been mildly mauled enough under Julio's hands. He didn't appreciate undergoing any more.

"What's eating you, Aaron?" Rossi took a stand close enough to see the dark eyes despite the lack of streetlights. "You haven't said two words since leaving the hospital. You're not really here. Talk to me."

"Nothing." Hotch returned to studying the ground beneath his feet.

"Bull." Rossi reached out and pushed him again, deliberately provoking a reaction.

Sure enough, the frisson of irritation that rippled over him loosened the younger man's tongue.

"I just don't see what you hope to accomplish by delving into something that can't be proved. It all boils down to a matter of opinion, a matter of faith. Speaking of which…you were raised in a religion that claims there's no such thing as a soul returning, moving to another body. How can you believe in something so…so…" Hotch's brief fuel of anger burned out. "…I don't know. Dave, nothing lasts forever. How can you believe in anything eternal?"

Rossi examined his friend's face, the eyes still downcast. He reached out. With gentle fingers under a stubborn chin, he raised Hotch's gaze to his own and then raised his own to the stars filling the sky in unguessable numbers. When Hotch's glance followed his own, when he was sure the sight of something infinite filled the younger man's field of vision, there was really only one question he had in response to that asked by Aaron.

"How can I believe in eternity? How can you not?"

xxxxxxxxxxx

When the doctor arrived home, the agents were seated on the couch in his living room. He smiled when he saw that Rossi had made good on his offer to avail themselves of his fine, antique scotch. He had a feeling Aaron would be more open, more forthcoming if his brain was slightly lubricated.

He shed the jacket which had recently become necessary as the nights grew crisper, and addressed his guests.

"I hope I haven't kept you waiting long?"

"No." Rossi raised the almost-empty glass he was holding. "Just long enough."

The doctor poured himself a drink and freshened the others. "You're very quiet, Aaron." Dark eyes flicked up, then down. "Remember the last time you were here. I know what troubles you, but the only way to work past your demons is for you to acknowledge them yourself." Before taking a seat, the old man walked over and brushed a thumb over Hotch's cheekbone. The gesture had become a signal of caring acceptance, of permission to be uncharacteristically weak; a gesture that allowed wounds to show themselves in hope of final healing.

This time Hotch's eyes cut over to Rossi before returning to contemplation of the amber liquid in his glass.

Rossi sipped at his drink. When it became apparent Hotch wasn't feeling talkative under the scrutiny of both older men, he spoke. "Despite evidence, as tenuous as it is, to the contrary, our young friend doesn't want to believe in reincarnation."

With any other audience, Rossi's statement would have stood on its own. But the doctor felt the faint current of hurt in the older agent's words. _He's wondering if Aaron refuses him as a father. He's taking his son's silence personally._ The old man's voice conveyed strong assurance when he spoke. "No. That's not it. Something else troubles him."

Hotch didn't like being talked about. He came to a decision. Draining his glass, he blinked and coughed at the unaccustomed power of the liquor. Rossi hadn't warned him about the age and strength of the doctor's scotch. It took very few minutes for the alcohol to achieve its desired effect. Hotch raised his gaze and gave a defiant look to each older man in turn.

"It's alright to say it, child. You have kept more locked within you than any man should. It's alright to say it."

Leaning forward, elbows braced on knees, Hotch turned a tortured look on Rossi , and said what he'd wanted to howl into the uncaring darkness of his past ever since he'd been unable to approach the grave of Rossi's child; ever since the word _father_ shivered its way into his consciousness.

"Why didn't anyone help me? Where _were_ you? Where were _you_ when I needed help?"

Rossi flinched at the unreasoning accusation. It wasn't a grown man's question. It was a child's. And it carried all the aching loneliness of an unwanted child's torn and shredded spirit.

The doctor's deeper vision saw a boy, battered to the point of obliteration, desperate to understand why he had been given life at all, if life was only pain; wishing he could give the gift of life back...push it away and refuse it.

Rossi moved closer, folding his arms around the trembling frame, doing his best to provide comfort decades too late.

"Where _were_ you?!" The question was muffled against his chest.

"Oh, Aaron. I'm sorry. I was already mourning you."


	47. Hide and Seek

Hotch felt raw inside

The day had accessed too many feelings that he normally kept under lock and key. Traveling the distance from joyful elation to pain-ridden abandonment had exercised emotional muscles he'd left to atrophy for far too long. His heart was ravaged and tired. It just made it that much harder to exercise control and concealment. Those were his weapons of choice that let him stifle the howling child within. Those were the source of his "I'm okay" mantra that helped him deny his pain.

But these two older men, watching him with such steady, sympathetic eyes, knew him too well. They wouldn't let him hide any more.

The child resented them for taking away his last safe refuge…the silence of the past.

The adult understood their tactics, but was ashamed to admit how much damage still lingered inside him.

"I'm sorry, Aaron. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." It was a gentle, soothing croon accompanied by the protective pressure of Rossi's arms. The elderly doctor saw it as love, but with a large portion of paternal guilt mixed in.

_These two are both damaged in different ways. _He sighed. _That's what happens when something goes awry in the timelines. That one, small wrinkle that put the death of one son and the destruction of the other's spirit in some anomalous, temporal juxtaposition. _The doctor shook his head at his own choice of words. _Simply put, a child who was loved and wanted died. The body wasn't strong enough to continue. But the soul felt the parents' desire for a son and wouldn't depart. __**That**__ is the power of love. At the same time, the child who was unwanted was cursed with a body strong enough to survive his father's abuse. I believe his spirit screamed its last and fled at the moment the other soul was seeking to stay._

_Poor boy; he couldn't know what he was getting into. __**Not**__ the family that wanted a son. It wasn't the loving father who grieved that awaited him; it was the monster. Poor boy._

The doctor had no idea what, if any, pervasive force moved the workings of such things, but the longer he lived, and the more time he had to perceive the patterns, the more he believed in some enormous blueprint to which all existence conformed. Even being able to detect a hint of such a thing baffled and humbled him. It also made him periodically reconsider his decision to grant himself the abnormal longevity he'd attained. He felt like an observer of the master plan, but no longer a participant. Sometimes he wondered if he should allow himself to rejoin the current that moved between life and death and, maybe, life again. But then he'd encounter something truly marvelous; like this man's soul that shattered and reformed itself, and he'd have no choice. He _had_ to stick around to see what happened next. Often, what happened next couldn't really be grasped in one lifetime. So the doctor stayed for another and another…. And so it went.

_No 'maybe' about it with these two, though. Some glitch in the machinery separated them. Still, they managed to connect. Such a strong bond._

xxxxxxxxx

Rossi wished Aaron were smaller. His father's heart wanted to scoop him up and hold him with a protectiveness the ferocity of which would give Aaron visceral confirmation of his father's love and regret. But this wasn't a child he held. It was a man who'd grown taller than himself; a man who held a position of authority and respect. A man who was strong enough and tough enough to be kind to others, but not himself.

Still, Rossi wanted to treat him like a young boy, as though that would make up for anything. So he spoke soft, Italian words his mother had used when he himself had been small and feeling lost or hurt.

_But the worst of my childhood was __**nothing**__ compared to what Aaron endured. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, sorry, sorry…mi dispiace, Aaron… ti amo, Aaron…_

xxxxxxxx

After a time, Hotch felt the discrepancy between who he was now, and how he was acting, too much to let Rossi continue to comfort him. He pulled himself up and eased away, putting a little distance between them.

Wiping his face with one hand, he glanced furtively at each older man in turn, gauging how his behavior was being judged. The look on Rossi's face was one of misery so pure it stung Hotch's heart.

"I'm sorry, Dave. I don't know where all that came from."

"I do." Rossi wasn't about to let his friend sweep everything under the rug so they could pretend it never happened.

"So do I." The doctor saw the pattern this man had followed all his life. Concealment. A protective tactic in childhood had become the adult's lifestyle. It did nothing to further healing. He would not allow it to continue. He rose from his seat. Retrieving Hotch's glass, he poured a substantial four fingers of scotch into it and brought it to him. Arm extended, he waited for Aaron to take it. But the Unit Chief was trying to restore his sense of control. Alcohol would do little to further his cause.

"No, thanks, doc." He glanced at his watch as though there was some sort of schedule imposed upon them out here in the wilderness. Both older men recognized the empty gesture as yet another attempt to hide. "I didn't get much sleep last night, so I think I'm gonna go back to Millie's and turn in."

The doctor hadn't moved from his position looming over Hotch, proffering the rather full tumbler of very old, very potent scotch. "You're staying here tonight, Aaron." The sadness in his voice made Hotch look up. "You're staying here, because you're not going to be in any shape to leave." Again, the glass of liquor was pressed forward. "Your father and I are going to look after you. It's time someone did."

Rossi wondered if this strange, powerful doctor was using some sort of subliminal influence on Hotch. The younger man let his fingers wrap around the drink and didn't make any further attempt to escape. But the wary glint in his eye indicated he hadn't completely surrendered either.

"You have every right to be angry, Aaron. What happened to you was unfair." The doctor reached down and, once again, stroked his thumb over a cheekbone.

Hotch's shoulders slumped just a little. With a sigh redolent of resignation, he took a reluctant sip, considering his options, if escape was off the table. He decided to take advantage of the resource standing before him. Or maybe to find another way to hide and keep his pain-beast under control.

"Okay, doc. You know so much. If I'm some born-again soul, tell me how it happened; tell me _why_ it happened." Hotch took another sip and settled in for verbal sparring. "Tell me who I've been and who I'll be, if you really know."

The doctor resumed his seat and searched his guest's eyes. This was another kind of escape. If Aaron couldn't leave physically, he was going to throw up as many barriers and defenses as language could construct.

_Very well._

"I can only tell you what I see, Aaron. As long-sighted as I may be, the vision is still imperfect. This is not some fairytale spun out in logical sequence with characters and morals attached." He tasted his own drink, pleased to see Hotch mimic the motion. _He's nervous because he already has attained a certain level of belief. He's stalling._ "I see relationships and matrices. I see the cloth of which you are woven…_both_ of you, the same. I see the father and son. Again. And again. And a number of times more. I see the warp, the tear in the fabric that separated you. And I see the rip knitting itself together. Now. Here."

The doctor watched Hotch raise his chin, regarding his host out of narrowed, skeptical eyes. He set his glass down and leaned toward the FBI agent, aiming his words at his target. "My colleague, Julio, uses a phrase in his daily work when a patient is troubled by belief that defies knowledge. He used it on your telepathic friend when they first met. Perhaps it will help you…if you accept and apply it." He paused, giving added import to the Palero's teaching. "_Think with your heart, not your head…_Try, Aaron. Without preconceived notions or judgments. Try."

Hotch swallowed. "How?"

Rossi wanted to reach out again, but sensed that any distraction, even a comforting touch would impede the progress of whatever strategy the old physician was employing.

"Be still. Close your eyes and concentrate on your breathing. Let it fill your immediate world. Let the sound and rhythm of your own heart beat at the center of your thoughts. Be still. At your core, at the center of your being, you know who you are. You always have."

Hotch closed his eyes.

In this place without street noise, where only the night wind and the faint stirrings of nocturnal life were audible, it was possible to hear his own pulse. He swallowed again, convulsively, and made the decision to follow this path the doctor had set before him.

His breathing slowed. He concentrated on only what existed within him. A curious lightness touched him. He recognized it as similar to the sensation that had felled him as he'd approached the Rossi graves. His breath caught. He faltered. He pulled back and opened his eyes.

"Nothing." Even though he knew the futility of lying to this odd man who defied human limits, who would know falsehood without a doubt, Hotch tried. But instead of calling him on the lie, the doctor leaned closer, catching his eyes and holding them with his own.

"You're afraid." The voice had lowered. Sadness and a kind of wonder that such sadness should be found at the heart of this journey, at the moment of discovery sounded within it. "You're afraid of what you'll see; of who you are."

Hotch squinted his eyes; a last attempt to hide.

"Oh, Aaron. It's your father's voice you hear. The other one. The one who took every opportunity to tell you how lacking, how inferior you were. The one who destroyed you with words as well as blows. You're afraid you'll find out that that monster was right about you. Don't listen to him, child. Look. Look deep. See what _we_ see." The doctor's small gesture included Rossi.

"Try. Try again. Look deep. Deeper."

xxxxxxxxxx

A short distance away, Melinda Reid mewled in her sleep and twisted within her mother's embrace.

She felt psychic movement she lacked the capacity to define or describe…yet. She felt Beautiful Him confront the source of his doubt and pain. She felt a false father's voice banished forever. She felt the aftermath of disbelief followed by peace and the beginnings of deep healing. She moved a tiny fist and went back to sleep, knowing only that things felt right again.

xxxxxxxxx

Reid lay awake, cradling his wife and daughter, watching them sleep.

When Melinda moved, he touched her mind with gentle inquiry. She couldn't answer, or even recognize questions yet, but he felt a spot of turbulence that slowly smoothed itself away.

_Must be a dream,_ he thought. _I wonder what babies dream about._

Whatever it was, it had ended well.


	48. Parenthood

Hotch drank the rest of his scotch. In fact, he drank the next couple of glassfuls his host gave him.

When his eyelids felt as though they were made of lead, the doctor nodded at Rossi, indicating he could use some help putting Aaron to bed. But it didn't work out quite the way he'd planned.

It worked out better.

Once they had Hotch on his feet, and he realized he was being hustled toward the bedroom, he dug in and resisted. The two older men glanced at each other over his drooping, slightly disheveled head. Rossi shrugged, indicating he didn't know what the issue could be now. The doctor read what was troubling Hotch, but he wanted him to speak it aloud. It would do his father good to hear it. Rossi bent, trying to look into the younger man's face.

"Aaron? Problem?"

A baritone grunt might have been the word 'no.' They couldn't be sure. This time the doctor tried.

"You don't want to go to bed yet?"

"Uh-uh." Hotch took a deep breath, gathering himself for more of a speech than he was capable of delivering. It had to be an important statement, considering the effort he was making to take a stance. "Wanna go h'm wif' Dave."

Again, the elders' eyes met; this time crinkling with good humor.

"You want to go home with your father. How about if your father stays here with you? Would that work?" The doctor didn't think delivering a drunken man to Millie's delicately faux-Victorian interiors was a good idea. Aside from the moral dilemma that would have the proper, little proprietress puffing with indignation, a man Aaron's size had to maneuver with care through the endless ornaments and bric-a-brac on a good day. In his present condition, with his coordination in doubt, he qualified as a one-man, semi-mobile, demolition unit.

"Mmmpphff."

"I'll take that as a 'yes.'" The doctor looked at Rossi's grin and was glad he wouldn't be separating the two men. A little bonding time was in order, even if one of the bond-ees was slightly the worse for wear and only vaguely conscious. He spoke in lowered tones to the older agent. "I have a room with a bunk bed. Would that be okay with you?"

"Sure." Rossi was so enthralled with the idea of a long-lost son that he would have greeted the suggestion of a bed of stinging nettles with equal enthusiasm. Hotch's request to stay near him echoed his own sentiments for the younger man, and made his heart swell with joy. It was a sign. Drunk Hotch was bypassing Rational Hotch and indicating his acceptance of his non-biological lineage. A small, long-dormant flame of fierce, protective, fatherly love kindled in Rossi. Time lost was unrecoverable, but there was so much more of life to come. And David Rossi looked forward to living it as a parent; something he'd believed would never be possible.

It felt like a huge gift.

"Thank you." Rossi's eyes were damp, but his voice was steady and sincere.

The doctor glanced up, smiling. "You're welcome, child. I love him, too. He deserves some happiness. You both do."

xxxxxxxx

Deep in the house, in a back room with windows facing on the primeval forest, were the bunk beds. After Hotch had been partially undressed and maneuvered into the bottom one, Rossi ran a hand over the solid, heavy, wood construction. There was no hardware; no nails, no screws, no bolts. The bed was formed solely of wood jointed together by an expert craftsman. Parts of it gleamed with a patina bestowed by generations of hands, climbing into and out of the upper and lower tiers.

"This is old. Very old." Rossi appreciated antiques. He had furnished his mansion with quite a few prime specimens.

"I built it for my first child. It's held up well, but it's been a long time since it provided a resting place for anything other than memories." The doctor gave the bed a considering look, as though seeing something taken for granted through new eyes. "I'm glad it will be occupied tonight."

Rossi pulled a homespun blanket up to Hotch's chin, thinking to himself _I'm tucking my __**son**__ into bed!_ It didn't matter that the son in question was pushing middle age. What mattered was the small sigh he gave as he snuggled in, allowing himself to be cared for.

"A moment." The doctor sat on the edge of the bed and rested a hand over Hotch's chest. "Don't want him to have any regrets when he wakes up tomorrow."

Rossi hovered, luxuriating in a sense of paternal protection. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing much." The wrinkled, worn hand moved lower to Hotch's stomach. "Just metabolizing the alcohol in his system." Mischievous eyes twinkled with humor as the doctor glanced at Rossi. "Don't want him associating freeing himself from the past with headaches and nausea, now, do we?"

The older agent grinned. "Too bad you can't teach me that skill. I can think of several times I'd have sold my soul to have it."

The doctor chuckled, giving Hotch a final pat, then running his thumb over a cheekbone. "There. He should be fine in the morning." He rose a little stiffly and headed for the door. "Let me know if you need anything. Otherwise, sleep well."

But Rossi hardly slept at all.

He spent most of the night sitting beside Aaron, studying the face that, in repose, still held hints of the child he'd been. When fatigue finally made him seek the upper bunk, he fell asleep with words running through his mind in an endless loop.

…_A son, a son, a son… I have a son, a son, a son… Carolyn, I wish you could see him… He's beautiful… A son, a son, a son…_

xxxxxxxxxx

Reid had spent a mostly sleepless night as well. And for much the same reason.

_A daughter, a daughter, a daughter…we have a daughter, a daughter, a daughter…_

Every once in a while Ana would chime in. _I know, I know, I know! Can you believe it? A daughter, a daughter, a daughter…_ Then, if baby Melinda allowed it, she'd drift into a half-doze again, only to be roused by her husband's inability to contain his joy, or her child's needs every few hours.

Reid was trying to block his telepathy, especially considering they were in a hospital with patients who might be disturbed. Broadcasting his thoughts was akin to shouting in the corridors. But every time he began to relax, the happiness bubbled up, out of control.

He felt a little guilty about it until Julio appeared early in the morning, checking on the new family.

_The doctor has shielded your room_. The Palero's grin flashed like neon snow. _Otherwise we could 'hear' you all over town._ He watched Reid cradling his daughter, bending his neck, bringing his face closer and closer to inspect the tiny fist lying on top of her baby blanket. _Be careful…_

But it was too late. Feeling the nudge of her father's nose, Melinda grasped the intruder tightly in a surprisingly strong grip. Reid's eyes widened, more in alarm than pain, although definite discomfort was involved. Julio chose to laugh and leave the new father to his own devices. Ana, however, took pity on her mate and disengaged fist from nose with gentle fingers.

Reid turned a bewildered look on his daughter. _I didn't know she could do that._

_I am thinking you will be surprised by many of the things your little one can do._ Julio resumed a professional demeanor while Reid rubbed his nose. _The doctor wishes you to know you may stay as long as you like, but I think I see you are already planning your return home?_

Reid nodded. _We have a new place we haven't really settled into yet._ He transferred Melinda to Ana's arms. _And we have a lot of stuff to go through…gifts…for our new nursery. _

Reid had sent Ana pictures of the purchases Rossi had bestowed on them, as well as the small mountain of riches Hotch had passed on...fallout from the Unicorn Incident. Just as the Unit Chief had predicted, she was eager to build a nest; looking forward to immersing herself in a pastel fantasy. Ana would never admit it, but she was a closet girly-girl who dreamt of drifts of lace even when clothed in her usual denim or flannel. Reid had made the delightful discovery of his wife's secret tastes when they'd moved in together and Ana's lingerie had come to light.

He brought her occasional, thoughtful tokens dripping with femininity, like a scarf of barest, cyclamen pink, embroidered with delicate wreaths of roses, or a tiny picture frame, enameled and painted with the delicacy of a bygone era. He thought his wife would lavish their daughter with all the little-girl things she'd never had for herself…partially due to her parents' budget, and partially due to availability of such things in a tiny town like Needles. Privately, Reid was glad that Rossi and Hotch had chosen to torment each other with some of the most princess-y items he'd ever seen. Ana would love it. Even now, he could detect in her mind the desire to decorate in Rossi's least favorite, even dreaded, palette of pinks and lavenders.

_Spencer, I'd like to go home tomorrow…You?_

_Whatever you want. _

And, once again overcome by his own fatherhood, Reid insinuated himself on the bed, slightly behind Ana. It was his favorite place to be, allowing his long arms to embrace both of his girls.

_There's nothing I wouldn't do for you…whatever you want, Ana._

xxxxxxxxx

The announcement was nearly two weeks after the fact, when it appeared in the small newspaper devoted to the residents of Needles, California. Only one line. But it was enough.

"Born to Anastasia (nee Ashcroft) and Spencer Reid, a girl, Melinda Catherine, September 27, 7 lbs., 4 oz."

Carol Bescardi clipped it carefully and added it to her stockpile…years of gathered fragments that were moving her closer to vindication and retribution.


	49. Duck 1

Carol Bescardi was lining up her ducks.

She'd always had a goal; the resumption of her studies pertaining to ESP. With the birth announcement of Melinda Reid, she had a potential test subject as well. The ex-doctor chafed at the restrictions attendant on her status as a ward of the New York State prison system. At first, she told herself to be patient; to keep building on the trust and solid reputation she was crafting during her work release. But the thought that the child was out there, just _waiting_ for someone to discover its abilities was too much.

She started small.

Step one: locate the baby.

For a woman of Bescardi's determination and silky slyness, that was as easy as child's play. She relied on the naiveté of the baby's maternal grandparents. The words she would use had been running through her mind for days before she finally gave in to temptation and picked up a phone on her lunch hour. A quick internet search had garnered the number for the only Ashcroft family listed in Needles, California. Feeling an almost unbearable thrill of anticipation, Bescardi entered the sequence.

One ring.

Two.

Three.

_Come on, you stupid, small-town peons! Answer. ANSWER!_

Four.

"Hello?" It was the cheery, almost lilting voice of an older female.

Bescardi glanced around, assuring herself of privacy in the cafeteria where she took lunch every day. The only other occupants of the space were involved in a discussion so intense their heads almost touched as they sat across a table from each other. They were poring over paperwork as well. _Safe. Time to implement step one._

"Hello! Is this the Ashcroft residence?"

"Yes, it is."

"I'm sorry to bother you, but I've been out of touch with Ana for so long and I just heard she became a mother recently!" Bescardi affected a breathy, joyful, oh-my-I'm-so-glad-for-her type of delivery.

"Yes, she did." The pride and happiness marked the speaker as a relative.

_Most likely the girl's mother._

"Well, I missed out on the first wave of congratulations, but I'd really like to get in touch…maybe send some flowers?" Bescardi took a breath; this was the crucial point. "But I've been so busy and the address I have is old…from before she married Spencer." _Nice touch. _She preened a little at including personal information like Ana's husband's name. It marked her claim of acquaintanceship with the stamp of authenticity. _**If**__ the old bat buys it._

"Of course, I'm sure Ana'd love to hear from an old friend." There was the sound of papers shuffling, or maybe an address book's pages turning. "She's busy looking after Melinda right now, so she doesn't get out as much as she'd like. Ah! Here it is." The rustling noises stopped. "Eleven-twenty-five Decatur Avenue, number 7A…am I going too fast?"

"No. No, you're doing just fine." _Imbecile._

"Quantico, Virginia. And the zip there is…22135. Got it?" It was a bright, friendly inquiry.

_Yes, idiot, I've got it. Thank you for being such a trusting fool._

Ana's mother looked at the receiver buzzing in her hand. The call had ended abruptly. Almost as if the woman on the other end had hung up as soon as she had the information she needed.

_It couldn't be that. No one would be so rude. Certainly not one of Ana's friends._ Mrs. Ashcroft placed the phone back on its base and shrugged. _Must've got cut off. Land lines can be unreliable at times. Anyway, Ana will be glad to hear from her, I'm sure. I wish I could have gotten her name, though. Oh, well…._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Something's different. Since they came back, something's different." Morgan muttered his verdict about the small subset of the team that had returned from upstate New York, possibly his least favorite place on the East Coast.

His voice was low and controlled, allowing only an audience of one: Prentiss.

"It's that place. Things change whenever they go up there. _They_ change." Morgan's comments trailed off into unintelligible, but dissatisfied rumblings. They were cut off by Emily's harsh whisper.

"Of _course_ things changed! Reid came back a daddy! Jeez, Morgan. That's kind of life-altering, ya know? Cut him some slack."

"Wha..? _No_! Not _that_!" Morgan's eyes indicated the corner of the catwalk where Hotch and Rossi had adjacent offices. He gave a subtle point with his chin. "_Them_. They're different."

"Hotch and Rossi?" Prentiss sat back and openly stared at the two men, each visible behind the slatted blinds in their office windows. She preferred open confrontation to subtle observation. "What d'you mean… 'different'?"

Just then Rossi rose from his desk. Glancing at his watch, he made the short journey from his own to Hotch's office. He poked his head around the corner and addressed his colleague.

"Lunchtime, Aaron. Come on."

They couldn't make out the exact response, but Morgan and Prentiss would have bet their boss was employing some kind of delaying tactic. Hotch rarely broke for meals. Once he was at his desk, his focus left no room for interruptions caused by biological requirements.

"It can wait. You need to eat. Come on."

More grumbling, but even from the bullpen it was clear Hotch was gathering himself together. When the Unit Chief rose, grabbed his jacket and joined Rossi, it was definite.

"See?" Morgan's voice was even lower and more guarded than before.

"See _what_? Those guys do stuff together all the time."

"Use your skills, Prentiss. Hotch didn't just 'go along' with Rossi; he _obeyed._"

Both junior agents watched as their leader slipped on his jacket. Rossi dusted off the younger man's lapels, a move that garnered him a glare, albeit a glare without malice. Putting an arm around Hotch's shoulders, Rossi gave a brief squeeze. "Atta boy. You'll feel better at the end of the day if you take better care of yourself. Now. Italian or Chinese?" The pair wandered off, deep in consultation about their respective cuisines of choice.

With the departure of the topics of conversation, Morgan felt free to speak at normal volume. "_Now_ do you see? If one of _us_ started fussing with Hotch's clothes _while he's in them_…he'd slice us off at the knees."

"Morgan…" Prentiss expelled a long-suffering breath of exasperation. "Rossi's the one who mentored Hotch into the BAU. He can do a lot of things we can't to the boss-man. They're more than friends." She shook her head and resumed work, her mind already turning to lunch plans of her own. "Those guys have known each other forever…"

She had no idea how right she was.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Reid was reveling in fatherhood.

He loved everything about it. Now that he and Ana were in close enough proximity again to communicate telepathically, he often lapsed into a dazed and grinning stupor at his desk, listening to his wife recount every tiny detail of their daughter's day.

He rushed home after work so he could participate in…_everything._ Feeding, bathing, playing, diapering…everything. One of his favorite activities was simply to observe. Reid could sit by and watch his girls for hours. Ana _had_ let her frilly side out and Melinda seemed perfectly at ease in a fairytale princess world. Something about it just made her father's heart expand until it verged on breaking.

_Mine_, Reid would say to himself. _All mine. Both of them._

_Works both ways_ would come Ana's response. _You belong to us. Completely._

It always ended the same way. Reid's eyes would tear up and he'd remember Hotch's words about loving so much it hurt. He'd acknowledge his awe that someone like him…geeky, too-smart, weird, skinny him…had achieved a beautiful family and more happiness than he thought he deserved. Then words, even mental ones, would desert him and he'd be lost in the most pleasant emotional turmoil imaginable.

Which is when Ana would call him back with a reminder of the simple basics, of where it all began: _I love you, Spencer Reid. Forever._


	50. Duck 2

The one thing the Reids would have changed about their situation was their pediatrician.

Before bringing Melinda home, they'd consulted with the old doctor up north and expressed their worries. They couldn't be commuting from Quantico to the edge of nowhere even for regular check-ups, let alone if their daughter actually needed medical care. And with no clear idea of how her talents would develop, they were keenly aware of the need to protect their child from unwanted curiosity and speculation.

_Oh, Spencer, we almost ended up test subjects ourselves; we can't let that happen to Melinda…ever!_

Both Reid and Ana had worked themselves up into something of a new-parent-frenzy by the time the doctor had finished his rounds and returned to check on them. But before they could even itemize their concerns, he'd addressed them.

_It's not a perfect solution, but…I can recommend Dr. George Evanston in New York. At least the commute will be shorter than coming all the way up here._

A deluge of questions had poured from the parents' minds. In the interest of time, the doctor had cut them short.

_He's a descendant of mine. And, no, he's not exceptionally gifted. He is, however, intuitive and he is aware of the special needs of your kind._

Reid had every wary, fatherly antennae extended to full length. _**Our**__ kind? You don't include yourself in that classification?_

The smile wrinkles had come into full play. _I mean the kind who need to live with a certain amount of secrecy; behind a curtain of discretion…__**outside**__ of our little enclave here. _A worn hand had brushed against sleeping Melinda's cheek. _And __**you**__, little one…remember to stay away from Aaron. _

The doctor had reinforced his directives regarding the baby's godfather and then sent the young family on its way with an address, a phone number, and assurances that they could return at need. They would always be welcome.

It was as much as the new parents could have hoped for.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Prisoner Bescardi decided her work at the lab in Lake Placid had served its purpose. _More_ than served its purpose, actually.

Not only had it afforded her the opportunity to visit the abandoned monastery…a fruitless effort when all was said and done…but it had provided her with proof that her ultimate test subject existed, and it had served to cement her reputation among the work release program administrators as a trustworthy person.

_My work here is finished._

If the small matter of incarceration hadn't been involved, Bescardi would simply have walked away and left her inferiors to pick up the pieces and cover her desertion as best they could. But she wasn't in a position to do as she wished. She still needed to work within the confines imposed upon her. She would have to mold the system to meet her needs. And Lake Placid no longer met her needs.

It was time to engineer a return to the Big Apple itself. It was more convenient to Quantico after all.

That was when Poor Carol, the woman who ran errands and made purchases, developed what the lab staff came to refer to as 'the car curse,' 'the automobile anathema.'

For some reason, every time their gofer went forth on Fridays, her vehicle would cough its last and die at whatever point was farthest from home base. The first time had been in Tupper Lake and had resulted in Carol's supervisor, Mr. Simon going to bat for her with the halfway house supervisor and, indirectly, the prison board that had granted work release in the first place.

She'd been exonerated when she'd produced a receipt for work done at a Tupper Lake garage. And she'd been a very good girl during her 'involuntary' absence from the New York prison where she was supposed to spend her weekends. She'd been on her own recognizance and behaved admirably…as far as anyone would ever know. No one ever guessed that she'd dropped in on a monastery.

The second time, Bescardi simply drove farther than necessary, did some damage under the hood, and called her lab boss with another almost-tearful, breathy, explanation and plea for help.

"Ah, Meester Simon, I got lost and eet ees again a break down!"

He loved her stress-induced accent, broadcasting her Italian heritage in the most delightful way. But even Mr. Theodore Simon had to admit it was a little…_coincidental?..._ that it happened again.

"Carol, I don't understand." Then his voice had taken on an affectionately put-upon note. "You just don't have any luck at all when it comes to automobiles, do you?" But he'd chuckled and done his best to smooth over the rough spots about Bescardi missing her transport back to prison for the weekend.

The third time was a little harder to believe. And harder to sell.

The fourth time, Poor Carol initiated the request herself to return to the main prison. After all, she was an innocent, victimized woman who was by nature so law-abiding and respectful, she'd rather deny herself the benefits of work release in Lake Placid, than risk getting into trouble by not adhering to the program's constraints. Even if it _wasn't_ her fault when it happened. _Or_…

"…or maybe I could be assigned to work someplace in the City? Where there would be alternative ways to get back if things go wrong…Even if it's _not_ my fault, I don't want to be part of anything that would cause anyone else even a moment's distress or worry!"

Kind, considerate, regulation-abiding Carol Bescardi was allowed to begin the search, with appropriate guidance and restrictions, of course, for a more suitable, more convenient, place of employ.

Being back in New York City during the week while she browsed through potential workplaces also gave Bescardi a chance to touch bases with her attorney more easily.

_Oaf. To give up on my case without a fight. Idiot._

But he had come in handy with advice about handling her finances. Because of him, Carol's bank account was intact. Her credit cards had been paid off; her possessions either sold or put into long-term storage; her apartment vacated. In short, whenever she was released, she would at least have some funds available, and no crushing debt looming over her.

_Fool. To call himself a lawyer! More like a glorified accountant. Moron._

But she had to admit, he'd served a purpose. She had a feeling she might need some pocket money in the near future. She wasn't completely sure of how or when, but she was positive some ready cash would come in handy.

For things like diapers, formula…the usual things babies required…

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hotch wasn't sure why Rossi had asked to see him at home, but it didn't matter.

He and Jack enjoyed Dave's presence whenever they could get it. But this time he'd asked for Jack to be farmed out to his aunt for the evening.

_Has to be something personal. _Hotch smiled. He'd noticed the difference in the older man's behavior toward him since confirmation of their father-son bond. In fact, he was sure other team members had sensed something different between him and Dave, too. Especially Morgan.

It was something of a revelation for him to realize he didn't care if the team didn't get it. It didn't affect the team dynamic; their efficiency, their ability to mesh into a remarkably effective unit. It was something private they all seemed to respect. But Morgan was a relentlessly nosy man. That was one of his best qualities when ferreting out unsubs or evidence. But it could be a nuisance, too. Hotch recalled when Reid had first met his wife. He'd wanted to keep Ana to himself at first. It had driven Morgan crazy.

Hotch's smile widened. If it became an issue, he was sure he could quell the agent's curiosity with some simple statement like 'This has to do with the kind of thing that happens at that _place_. You know…that _place_ in upstate New York. Are you _sure_ you want to know, Morgan? There's no going back once you do…' Natural aversion to the paranormal would likely send the man sprinting for the hills…as long as the hills were far away from upstate New York.

The bottom line wasn't what the others thought. It was what Hotch thought. And he liked the little fatherly touches that Rossi was lavishing on him. No one had ever done that before. He had to admit that a lot of it was just common sense that he could have implemented himself, but somehow never did.

Like taking time during the day to eat. Or taking a small break; looking away from the overloaded desk. Little things…but little things that added up to a very small, warm glow inside stoic, stern Aaron Hotchner. It was new, and, as much as he appreciated it, he needed time to get used to it.

So, in spite of his general good feeling about the reincarnation issue…_Even if it can't __**really**__ be proven_…Hotch was a little nervous when the doorbell rang.

And Rossi could tell instantly. He ducked his head and smiled.

"It's alright, Aaron. I'm not going to kidnap you and take you someplace where you'll mysteriously pass out. No more cemeteries for you."

"What!? I'm fine." It was a classic example of the father-son situation. Hotch didn't like being so easy to read. But he liked that Dave could do so. That anyone cared enough about him to look deeper than the surface.

"I just wanna be sure. 'S why I'm here." Rossi looked around, assuring himself that Jack had indeed found other lodgings for the night. "So. You gonna offer a man a drink or what?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Settled in the living room with their traditional scotch-on-rocks, Hotch waited for his friend to reveal the reason for this private audience. After a sip or two, Rossi waded in.

"I came over because we haven't really talked since everything that went on, you know…upstate."

"We've talked." Hotch blinked. "We talk almost every day."

"That's different. At the office, or in a public place like a café, we can't discuss anything without risk of being overheard." Rossi set his glass down and leaned forward, engaging Hotch's eyes. "So I'm here to check on you, Aaron. How are you doing with…everything?"

Hotch knew what he was being asked. _How do you like being my son?_ Problem was, he still wasn't sure about how he felt deep down. He'd kept the scars of his childhood so deeply buried and shielded from the world, he was having trouble reconciling himself to the fact that a father could be someone who didn't hit. Or hurt. Or hate. And he owed the man who cared enough to ask an honest answer.

"I'm not sure, Dave." He saw Rossi trying to hide his disappointment and hurried on. "I would have given anything when I was growing up for the right to call you 'Dad.' I still want to. But…every time I try to really think about it, I feel…I feel…" Hotch stopped. Swallowing, he shot the older man a helpless look. In a smaller voice, he forced himself to finish the thought. "I don't know _how_ I feel. I'm sorry." He bowed his head, not wanting to hurt a man he truly did love, but not knowing how to articulate his feelings.

Hotch was glad when Rossi spoke and his voice was soft and gentle.

"Try to tell me what it's like when you think about it, Aaron. Don't _over_think. Just say. Fast. Now."

"I'm scared." Hotch looked up, surprised. He hadn't expected to say that.

"Keep going. Of what?"

A pause.

"Don't _think_, Aaron. What are you afraid of?"

The sadness in Hotch's voice when he replied squeezed Rossi's heart.

"I don't know how to be a son."


	51. Humanity's Dregs

Rossi had no words.

He listened to what Hotch considered an admission of deep-seated failure in himself, and heard only a white-noise of hate for the man's biological father. Rossi stood, brushed at his clothing while he stalled for time, deciding how best to approach a grown man with damage so rooted he might never truly recover.

He believed Hotch _had_ let go of his relationship to the senior Hotchner that drunken night at the doctor's home. But he hadn't yet accepted that the hurt that had been done to him wasn't his fault; that he didn't deserve the hand he'd been dealt as a child.

Rossi cleared his throat and moved over to where Hotch sat on the couch.

The younger man's head was lowered, working at being expressionless.

_He always hides. And it never works for him, poor guy. _Rossi's smile was wry and mirthless. _But he does continue to find innumerable ways to do it._

Rossi sat beside him; close enough so their shoulders were touching. He tilted sideways just enough to bump Hotch. It was a subtle way of telling him his hiding place of blankness and avoidance of eye contact had been discovered. _Come out, come out, wherever you are._

Hotch's only response was to swallow and continue studying the carpet as he leaned over, elbows on knees. Rossi copied his position and bumped shoulders again. Harder.

"Aaron, I know you probably think you're too old for this, but sometimes it's the only thing a father can do when he sees his kid in pain." And with that, Rossi swept both arms around his friend's shoulders, cinching them tighter and tighter until Hotch was forced to release and allow himself to be affectionately engulfed and controlled. Rossi shifted, repositioning until he could rest his chin on top of the dark, still bent head.

_There. Now you have a new place to hide. A father's arms._

It was instinct that made Rossi rock. And when Hotch gave a deep sigh and even let himself be caressed a little, Rossi counted it a victory.

But Hotch couldn't let himself relax for too long. He was an adult, after all. When Rossi felt him try to straighten, he let him up, rubbing his back instead, giving him a moment to collect himself before…

"Aaron, I lied to you."

"Wha'd'you mean?" The baritone voice had a slight crack in it.

"I said I wouldn't take you to any more cemeteries."

Hotch blinked at the older man in honest confusion.

"Where's Hotchner senior buried, Aaron?" Rossi's face was as grim as it had ever been. "I want a chance to tell that son of a bitch exactly what I think of him."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Are you sure you're okay with this?_ Reid was hovering, reluctant to step out the door and start his normal workday. _I feel like I should be going with you. Especially the first time._

Ana stood on tiptoe, Melinda securely in her arms, and pecked a kiss onto the tip of her husband's worried nose. _It's fine. You forget. I lived in New York. It's my home turf. And I'm sure Dr. Evanston understands when one parent has to hold down a job._ She nuzzled into his chest, letting him feel her grin against him. _Besides, how else would we pay for a fancy, big-city doctor if we didn't have your health insurance? Huh? Answer me __**that**__, Mr. Genius Man._

A few more nuzzles in tender, ticklish places finally wiped the concern from Spencer's face.

_Now get out of here and earn our daily bread, husband-and-provider._

Reid laughed and leaned down to return Ana's kiss. Then he did what had become a daily morning ritual. He snuggled his nose against his daughter…he had become used to its being grabbed and twisted…and gazed into eyes that promised to be the same honey-brown as her father's.

Reid was making himself available telepathically. After all the consequences attendant on touching Hotch's mind, he was loathe to make first contact with Melinda. Both he and Ana could monitor her and glean general feelings, but the precise communication they enjoyed with each other hadn't happened yet. Reid didn't want to influence anything that might already be in progress in her psychic development. So he presented himself and waited for the day she would reach out on her own.

Ana watched her two favorite people stare each other down. When the tiny fist came up and mauled the nose so temptingly within reach, she laughed and disengaged little fingers with an expert touch. _Go. She's not going to do it today, Spencer. _Ana frowned. _Although…I think we should make the effort to talk out loud around her more. I mean, when you think about it, Melinda hears us cooing at her, but she rarely hears her parents __**speak**__ like normal, non-ESP-er people. What do you think?_

Reid considered his daughter with grave eyes. _I think you're right. That's how babies learn to talk and it'd be awful if we were depriving her of the example, the stimulus she needs to begin to put the whole language thing together. She may be 'listening' mentally, but we don't know that for sure_. He nodded at his girls and made the switch to speech. "You have a very smart Mommy, Mellie-bear…" But then all verbal accuracy fled as he snuggled his face into Melinda's stomach and made happy-Daddy snuffles.

xxxxxxxxxx

The lab that was finally honored with Bescardi's presence was large, multi-functional, and conveniently located in Manhattan. It served the needs of the majority of clinics, hospitals and independent practitioners throughout the city's five boroughs. Thanks to the effusive recommendations of her former Lake Placid supervisor, Mr. Simon, Bescardi was promoted from janitorial and errand-girl work to duties which embraced filing and record-keeping.

It galled the ex-doctor to plaster on her billboard smile that proclaimed 'Oh, _thank you_!', when what she wanted to do was lash out and ask her 'superiors' in withering tones if they had any idea who she was…_had been_…before justice went awry and locked up one of paranormal research's brightest and best.

But with the ever-present incentive of a psychic baby born of psychic parents spurring her on, Bescardi let her stomach roil in acid while she grinned and bowed and dropped lab test results into their proper folders.

It was all so mundane. But at least she had a computer and a work station all her own.

And there was ample time to browse through the medical records of complete strangers, a pastime that only served to increase Bescardi's contempt for the bulk of humankind.

_Stupid cattle who lead themselves to the slaughter! Eating too much. Drinking too much. Smoking too much. Breeding when family history should tell them to abstain!_

She shook her head and wondered, not for the first time, if humanity deserved someone like her: a dedicated professional who was willing to do whatever it took to further work that would ultimately benefit even the dregs, the bottom-feeders of mankind. She was amazed at her selflessness, even as she dreamed of the accolades and fame it would achieve.

Yes, the Records Department was not worthy of her. It offered nothing of value.

Until the day a name caught her eye. A patient of one Dr. George Evanston, pediatrician.

Records for one M.C. Reid, infant.


	52. Graveside Manner

The trip to Hotchner senior's burial site was planned for the following weekend.

Born and bred in Virginia, Hotch had escaped the state for a time, first to further his education, then to pay his dues at the FBI offices in Seattle. But eventually Virginia reclaimed its native son. He'd come full circle to the place where he'd survived far worse as a small boy than he'd ever admit to. It was also the place where his parents had been laid to rest.

It was a three hour drive from Quantico to Monterey, where the elder Hotchner's remains waited. Rossi drove, keeping one eye on Hotch. The quieter the Unit Chief became as they neared their destination, the more Rossi seethed. He'd thought his rage might have cooled during the intervening days, but it returned full force as he saw the bruised darkness in Aaron's eyes grow with each mile they traveled.

There was no question of stopping for flowers or any other kind of tribute. That was a gesture reserved for loved ones. Sadly, not all members of Hotch's blood family could claim that status.

They arrived at Griffin Cemetery midmorning, pulling into the parking lot in front of the main office. Rossi had searched for the plot online, sparing them the necessity of asking for its location. The two men exited Rossi's BMW and stood at the edge of the monument-dotted grounds.

Hotch was very still and quiet, eyes shifting as he took in the manicured perfection before him. In an unsettling way it reminded him of the pretty yard and well-kept house in which he'd been raised…the prim and proper façade successfully concealing the violent abuse within.

Rossi studied his friend. Pain fairly radiated from him. His respiration had become shallow and rapid, but he was struggling to hide it; to get it under control. It looked like a fight-or-flight moment in the making.

_Poor kid's got PTSD. _

Rossi reached out and placed a hand on the back of Hotch's neck, intending to give the younger man a comforting squeeze. When the body beneath his hand jumped, Rossi again felt the peculiar combination of fury and pity that he was beginning to identify with his paternal instincts. On the one hand, he wanted to pummel the man responsible for Aaron's inner turmoil into a pulpy mass. At the same time, he wanted to hold his friend close enough and tight enough to leech the bone-deep memories of being hurt out of him.

Despite the startled reaction, Rossi moved closer, rubbing the nape of Hotch's neck and resting the palm of his other hand in the center of the too-rapidly moving chest.

"How're you doing, Aaron?"

"I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay."

_Damn. More than anything else, that means he's __**not**__._

"You know you don't have to do this. I'm going to tear that bastard's ghost a new one, but you don't have to come with me. You can stay here."

Hotch chewed on his bottom lip for an indecisive moment. Then he drew himself up to his full height and looked Rossi directly in the eye.

"No. I'll go with you." He looked out at the field of headstones again. "I know I should have done this at some point, but I…" The voice faded. Hotch swallowed. "I'm glad you're here with me." The eyes dark with sorrow and remembered fear turned back to Rossi. "I do appreciate this, Dave." Hotch's voice softened. "I think I like it when you act like a father."

The older man gave his friend one more pat before releasing him.

"It's not an act, Aaron."

xxxxxxxxxxxx

It took a short walk and a few minutes of searching to find the grave of Samuel Hotchner.

The dead man's blood-son stood in silence, staring. After a moment, Rossi gave him a one-armed hug and a fierce Italian kiss on one temple. "Do you have anything to say, Aaron?"

The only response was a head shake and the kind of convulsive bobbing of the Adam's apple that told Rossi an effort was being made to keep emotion under wraps.

"That's alright. I do." The older agent stepped forward, standing on the grave itself, gazing down at the granite slab with its carved name and dates. He let all the outrage he felt, all the fury at what had been done to Aaron, hiss out between his teeth.

"You're a stupid fool, Hotchner. You were given one of the biggest gifts a man can ever hope for and you tore it in half and threw it away with both hands. Most men in this world would give their lives and ransom their souls for a boy like Aaron. But you? You were too stupid and cruel and cowardly to see how lucky you were. You had to suck everyone down into the cesspit that spawned a monster like you, and try to destroy them so you could feel like a big, brave, strong man, didn't you?

"Well, you failed.

"He was mine to begin with and he's mine now. And you didn't break him. He's beautiful and loved and he does more good in the world than you could ever understand. You didn't deserve him and he shouldn't have been yours in the first place. He's mine." Rossi felt hot tears burning across his vision.

"But for the hurt you did him…I hope you rot in the darkest, deepest corner of Hell."

He took a labored breath, passion constricting his lungs.

"My beliefs have come into question lately. Maybe there is no Hell. Maybe things like you don't get punished the way I was raised to believe they should. But I _do_ still believe in a divine justice. You hurt my boy. And I hope you're suffering for it. And I hope you can see him and finally realize what a rich man…a blessed father…you _could_ have been. And I hope that knowledge burns you as painfully as hellfire itself."

Hotch flinched when Rossi spit on the grave. The face he turned back toward the younger man was congested with rage. The hug he subjected Hotch to was more than a demonstration of love; it was a declaration of ownership; a marking of territory.

"You're mine, Aaron. Don't you ever forget it. And don't you _ever_ wander off and get lost again. Understand?"

Hotch was being held so tightly, all he could do was take small, shallow breaths and nod.

It felt good.

xxxxxxxxxxx

When Rossi realized Hotch might need a little more oxygen than his compressed ribs could accommodate, he eased out of the embrace. Moving to stand behind the younger man, he placed his hands on his shoulders.

"You can say or do anything you want, Aaron. He can't hurt you."

Silence, as the son stared down at the headstone of the beast who'd made his childhood a broken, bloody travesty.

Rossi felt the hesitation and controlled yet another wave of rage for the man who'd instilled such lingering doubt and fearful caution that kept Aaron's heart caged.

"Remember what that old doctor told you? You need to say some things out loud in order to release them…or be released _by_ them." When the response came, it made Rossi struggle to keep from crushing Hotch in another bear hug.

The voice was low. It sprang more from bewildered hurt than anger. "I just wanna know why. That's all." Dark eyes sought an answer from the unresponsive headstone. "What did I do wrong?"

"You didn't do anything wrong, Aaron. You didn't deserve what happened to you. You didn't earn it, or seek it, or ask for it." Rossi dug into the tight shoulder muscles. "What you _did_ do was survive it. Admirably."

"I missed out on all the stuff other kids did with their dads. How'm I supposed to know how to be a good father to Jack?"

Rossi's eyes closed for a moment. "You're a _fine_ father to Jack. A _great_ father." He leaned his forehead against Hotch's hair. "And you know where that comes from? From me. You were mine and you still are. And you know how to be a loving father, because your _real_ father loves you."

He could feel Hotch nodding. It was a little distracted, but it was still acknowledgement.

A few minutes of silence passed. Rossi could feel that as mild as Hotch's words had been, especially compared to his own, they still qualified as a posthumous confrontation. It might be enough. For now, anyway.

He decided it was time to direct his friend's thoughts away from the monster's remains.

Rossi gave Hotch's shoulders a gentle shake, turning him from the grave. "Ya know, I didn't get to do all the father-son stuff I wanted to either." His lips gave the faintest quirk upward. "There's still time, Aaron."

Hotch blinked, a little slow to follow the change in conversational focus. Rossi hung an arm over his shoulders and started them on the walk back to the parking lot.

"I always thought I'd take my son places like the circus…fishing…camping…the zoo… Hey! That's what we'll do!" Rossi gave Hotch an enthusiastic pat that momentarily unbalanced him. "I'll take you to the zoo. Get you some cotton candy…one of those little souvenir t-shirts that says 'Zoo Property'…"

By now Hotch's eyes had lost the bruised look. It had been replaced with confused dismay.

"…and a little hat with your name embroidered on it…and at some point the excitement and the junk food will get to you and you can throw up on my shoes…and then you'll ask me if you can have a monkey of your own…and I'll have to explain about pets and the big responsibility they are…and you'll promise to take care of it all by yourself…" Rossi raised his nose a little higher. "Yeah…I can see it all now…"

And suddenly, Aaron could, too; a vision of his tall, stern, suited self with a t-shirt and hat added to the sober ensemble, sunburned and sick, and importunate about getting his very own monkey.

Aaron's deep laughter called up a broad, answering grin on Rossi's face.

"We can do all that, but we might have to use Jack as a beard…"

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Rossi felt Hotchner senior's grip on Aaron begin to slip. Triumphant satisfaction welled up inside him.

_We exhumed you, and we reburied you, you old bastard. Now stay the hell away from my boy._


	53. Keeping Secrets

George Evanston, pediatrician, turned out to be a delightful surprise.

Ana wasn't sure _what _ she'd been expecting, but it wasn't an energetic, cheerful elf. Melinda's new doctor was short, round and beaming. At first Ana thought he was a clerical worker. When she entered the doctor's office, the man behind the front desk was busily paging through an appointment book and answered a ringing phone without hesitation. Most doctors didn't do that, leaving such chores to an assistant or receptionist.

His voice was light and bright. When Ana extended a tentative tendril, her empathic senses told her this was a genuinely happy man. She detected fulfillment in his professional life and a pleasant attitude applied to the rest of his existence that saw it as an adventure with surprises around every corner. The good ones were savored. The bad ones were dealt with as quickly as possible and abandoned after having been inspected for any valuable lessons they might offer. Once left by the side of the road, they were _not_ allowed to taint the rest of the journey. There was remarkable, innate strength of character involved in being able to handle one's misfortunes that way.

_What a nice person to hire for a pediatrician's office_, Ana had thought.

At which, the man had looked up and directly at her, bypassing the few other people waiting patiently in the room. Ana blinked and tightened her arms around Melinda. That seemed to be her new reflex since becoming a mother. Anything even mildly out of the ordinary made her hold her daughter with heightened security. When the man nodded at her, he seemed on the verge of saying something. But a woman appeared behind him, touching him on the back to gain his attention. Soft words were exchanged and the man disappeared into the depths of the office. The woman took his place and called the name of the next patient, ushering her and her toddler through a door and into the inner sanctum.

When Ana's turn came and she was shown to a room, she realized her mistake.

While she was crooning to her daughter that everything would be fine; this was just a get-acquainted meeting, the examination room door opened and the man from the front desk whisked through it, smile lighting up with sincere enjoyment at meeting a new patient.

"Hello, Mrs. Reid! I'm Dr. George Evanston." The voice lowered to a register that indicated discretion and secrets were at hand. "Your…um,…_other_ doctor…the one up north?..." Sharp, blue eyes questioned whether she understood to whom he was referring. Ana nodded, indicating she did, and the man's smile grew even brighter. "Well! He informed me of your, uh, _unique_ situation."

Ana could feel only good coming from this doctor, but she was still nervous. It took her a moment to understand it was the normal reaction of any new mother entrusting the health of her baby to a stranger. She smiled when she saw Melinda transfixed by the man. Her baby's social circle had just expanded by a large percentage, considering it included so very few.

xxxxxxxxx

Nice man. Different, but nice.

Still, he wasn't _Errrrr…..unnnnn…_.

_That_ was where she really wanted to play. _That_ was the place she felt drawn to…

…no matter _how_ important it was to only watch _Errrr…unnnnn…_from a distance.

Melinda was learning discipline and choices even though she didn't have the means to define the concepts yet. Her mind was wide open. This place where her mother had brought her, this city, was uncomfortable until Melinda realized she didn't have to react to all the sensations impinging on her. She would let the tremendous number of psychic impressions enter the memory that was as perfect as her father's. She absorbed.

Later, she would take each stored item out, turning it over and over with agile, mental fingers; inspecting, examining, learning.

In silence.

Comparing everything to the three building blocks that formed her world. Partly Him. Partly Her. Beautiful Him.

It was how, eventually, Melinda would understand how _un_like everyone else she was.

xxxxxxxxx

"You'll have to come with us one time, Spencer. Just to meet him."

"I want to. I wanted to go _this_ time, but _someone_ made me go out and work…something about 'daily bread…' or maybe it was 'bringing home the bacon…' Reid raised his chin, a considering look in his eye. "I think I'm hungry. A bacon sandwich would be great right about now." His brow furrowed as he returned to the topic of Melinda's new pediatrician.

"You're sure he's trustworthy and he'll keep the whole ESP thing a secret, but what about the rest of his office staff? Wha'did you think of _them_?"

"They don't know anything. Dr. Evanston…George…explained how he keeps his 'special' patients separate, kind of undercover, from everyone else." Ana watched her daughter's eyes go wide. She was tracking a sparrow perched on a tree limb just outside their kitchen window.

"What he does is keep two completely different sets of records. One is for his staff to file and access whenever they need to make appointments or answer insurance questions. Those are the files that go to the central storage system that keeps basics like lab results, contact info, appointment dates. The other, the one with everything that counts about abilities and development of mental talents…_that_ one he keeps under lock and key. He's the only one to see it. He's the only one who even knows they exist." Ana looked back at her husband's critical, contemplative expression. "He showed me everything. I think we're safe."

Reid nodded, relaxing a little. "And he _was_ recommended by the old doc. And he _has_ been doing this for some time without anyone being outed as ESP-er." He bent and nuzzled Ana's ear. "I think you're right. We're safe." The nuzzle deepened. "Good work, Mrs. Reid."

The young couple were taking pains to speak to each other like normal, non-telepathic parents. Sometimes it was hard. And sometimes they'd _over_think everything they communicated in private, when telepathy was used to say things that were supposed to be just for adult consumption.

_What if she can __**hear**__ us, Spencer?_

The young father had given the possibility serious thought, but without knowing the extent of his daughter's abilities, it was impossible to know what precautionary measures would be appropriate. And they just couldn't live as though an audience was always present.

Reid had sighed and held his wife closer. _Then I guess she'll know all about the birds and the bees long before we decide to tell her. _He'd rested his chin on Ana's chest and gazed into the arctic blue of her eyes. _And she'll know just how much her parents love each other._

Ana had smiled. _That's a gooooood thing._

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The last meeting of the day had run long.

Hotch walked through a deserted bullpen, mentally reviewing the high points of yet another tussle over budgets. He yawned and noticed that Rossi was still at work, visible through the slatted blinds on his office window.

Hotch walked up the stairs and entered his own door, switching on the overhead lights.

Something was on his desk. A dark puddle of something.

He frowned and approached it with professional caution. His eyes widened. He picked up the black baseball hat with 'Aaron' emblazoned across the front in red glitter.

_Where the hell did he get this? And when?_

xxxxxxxxxx

Rossi heard the bark of laughter through the wall he shared with Hotch. His own smile morphed into a chuckle.

He'd been waiting for the damn meeting to end so he could witness the Unit Chief's reaction to his little gift. Rossi was satisfied. He'd seen the man smile, albeit a tiny, ghost of a smile; but he'd never heard Aaron laugh outright within the BAU walls.

_Mission accomplished._

xxxxxxxx

Hotch laughed once…a loud guffaw.

He turned the hat over in his hands, inspecting the thing's cheap, lurid attraction. After a moment he set down the files he'd been carrying and perched the hat on top of his head, knowing it would showcase the surrounding cowlicks that he battled daily.

But it was the end of the day and only Rossi would see it. Everyone else had gone home.

At least, he _thought_ everyone was gone.

When he stepped out of his office under his new hat, with the intention of letting Rossi enjoy his gag gift, he heard footsteps coming down the catwalk. They stopped.

Looking up, Hotch saw Morgan staring at him. The agent's eyes flicked from his leader's face to the thing visually shouting out his name in sparkling script.

There was nothing Hotch could do.

He squared his shoulders, ratcheted his eyes down into their fiercest glare, and stood his ground.

"Yeah? So?" The baritone voice rumbled its challenge.

Morgan blinked, decided the last report on his desk could wait, and backed out the way he'd come.

Sometimes it didn't pay to work overtime.


	54. Questionable Evidence

Carol Bescardi could hardly breathe.

She cast surreptitious glances around the office where her workstation was tucked into an anonymous, unimportant corner. It seemed inconceivable that no one had noticed the momentous discovery she had just made.

The Reid child, possibly the Holy Grail of psychic research, was within reach.

But no heads had turned. No peal of thunder had shuddered a message of powerful portents in the offing. No one had seen the hectic spots of color that blossomed on Bescardi's cheeks as her physiological response to the news shot her blood pressure skyward.

For once, she was glad to be surrounded by blank-minded drones. There was no chance of anyone interfering, because there was no chance of anyone grasping the significance of M.C. Reid's existence and proximity. After mastering her rapid breathing and dabbing the slight sheen of perspiration that had appeared above her upper lip, she went in search of more meaty findings.

Half an hour later, Bescardi sat back in her chair and gave herself a moment to digest the serious lack of data on Dr. Reid's baby.

The records were so average she almost believed there could be another M.C. Reid living at the same address as the one she'd procured from the baby's maternal grandmother. There were measurements that didn't interest her at all. A notation said that a hepatitis B shot had been given and a slight case of diaper rash had been addressed.

Bescardi almost seethed with frustration. Clearly, whoever Dr. George Evanston was, he was _not_ bright enough to grasp the enormity of the opportunity that had dropped the Reid specimen into his lap. She didn't know much about pediatrics. Babies in general were boring creatures not worthy of her attention until they had developed into either bovine peasants who might serve as lab fodder and who would swell the ranks of the bulk of humanity, or exhibited some trait or anomaly that invited study.

The Reid child fell into the second category.

_Surely the creature's behavior is unlike that of her peers! How could it __**not**__ be?!_

Bescardi narrowed her eyes at the uninformative screen before her. Either this Dr. Evanston was hiding something, or he was another simpleton who'd managed to slip into the sciences without intelligence or anything else of merit to recommend him.

Then her eye tracked to the final line of the data on M.C. Reid. An appointment had been scheduled for a two-month checkup. Apparently a round of immunizations were in order at that point in a baby's development.

Bescardi's eyes flicked to the date.

_Three-and-a-half weeks from now._

Her respiration and pulse escalated again. She knew where and when the Reid child would be.

_But so much to do!_ She swallowed an anxious lump. _And so much to risk._

She hadn't felt such a surge of energy and the need to scramble to set up an appropriate lab space since she'd roped Dr. Reid and his female companion into attending that ill-fated psychic retreat. Nor had she felt such a frisson of doubt regarding possible consequences since she'd realized her mistake when drugging that lamentable watchdog and abandoning him in the woods.

Bescardi had to remind herself that if David Rossi had been Reid's chaperone, as she'd expected, her calculations of dosage would have been correct…perfect, in fact.

_It's not my fault they sent the watchdog. And it's not my fault the man obviously couldn't keep a decent amount of weight on his bones._

She'd estimated the watchdog to be twenty pounds less than David, but in the heat of her desire to minimize non-ESP-er intrusion that might impact test results, she'd forgotten to adjust the drug dosage down. Even in the slight moment of panic when she'd realized what she'd done, her agile mind had still managed to worm a way out of any blame associated with the dilemma.

_It's not my fault my test subjects rebelled. __**That's**__ why the watchdog got lost. __**That's**__ why I ended up…here…ruined…discredited… _Her lips thinned with grim determination. _Well, that's __**not**__ going to happen __**this**__ time!_

After all, babies couldn't run out in the middle of a research project.

Babies couldn't resist.

Babies couldn't fight back.

xxxxxxxxxxx

"I'm not buying it, Morgan. Not a word of it." Prentiss shook her head and turned back to the reports she was proofing. "There's nothing going on between Rossi and Hotch that hasn't always been there. And Hotch doesn't have some kind of weird, alter-ego that manifests itself when we all go home."

Unfortunately, Garcia had joined the discussion this time and was more than willing to entertain the concept of an alternate reality where their stoic boss surrendered himself to glitter and laughter. She didn't have any hard evidence to contribute, but she threw her wholehearted support behind the idea, nonetheless.

"But Emily! What if this is how Hotch blows off steam? _No one_ can be _that_ serious all the time! He has to do something, right?" Garcia turned wide, rhinestone-studded, bespectacled eyes on her not-so-secret crush. "Right, Derek?"

Morgan bowed his head in near-defeat. "I don't know _why._ I only know what I saw. And heard." He dug in with renewed determination. "And unless Hotch has an identical twin with a quirky side, _I saw what I saw!_"

Aware that she would be unable to get any work done until the issue at hand was resolved, Prentiss leaned back and crossed her arms. "Okay, fly-boy. Why didn't you get a picture of him?"

Disbelief at the outrageous nature of the question blossomed across Morgan's face. "Are you _serious_?The guy looked like he was gonna spring for my jugular. He was starting to bare his teeth! He…"

The bullpen fell silent. Rossi had emerged from his office. As the junior agents watched, he tapped on Hotch's door, leaned in and said what had become a regular daily exchange. "Aaron! Take a break. C'mon."

Apparently their leader had learned the futility of protest. Even while some unintelligible rumbling noises issued forth, they could tell Hotch was complying. Unaware, or uncaring, of their audience, the two men strolled off, side by side, Rossi's arm around the Unit Chief's shoulders. Once the duo had gone, Morgan dove in again.

"And that's another thing. Rossi touches him a lot more than he used to."

Prentiss shrugged. "I dunno. Like I said before: they're buds. Personal space isn't an issue." After a moment's consideration, one expressive brow rose. "Heeeeeyyyy…you're not jealous are you, Morgan?"

Garcia's sharp intake of air accompanied a warning swat to her colleague's shoulder. "Bite. Your. Tongue. That's not funny, Emily." Garcia had lost several potential romantic partners under similar circumstances. They'd been attracted to her plumage, but she'd eventually discovered it was because they wanted to share her wardrobe, not her heart. The thought of sculpted Derek Morgan, her fantasy-of-choice, finding Hotch touchable was _not_ to be borne.

"Ow! Don't hit, Penelope." Prentiss rubbed her shoulder and gave Garcia a rueful look, which faded almost immediately, replaced by one of pure mischief as she entertained a possible solution to finding proof of Hotch's new predilection for glitter. "Let's look in his office while they're gone."

Both Morgan and Garcia stepped back, wary and reluctant.

"Go through Hotch's office. While they're gone. Now." Morgan's tone was anything but enthusiastic.

"Sure. Why not? Maybe the hat's in there. Or maybe he's got _other_ stuff, Morgan. C'mon. I _dare_ you…" Prentiss was enjoying herself a little too much.

"What if they come back?" Garcia's eyes widened. Whether from excitement at the proposed adventure, or fear of it, couldn't be said.

"Here!" Prentiss grabbed one of the reports she'd completed. "I'll say I was leaving this for Hotch to look at. I wanted his opinion on how I wrote it up before turning it in."

All three agents glanced in the direction their leader and Rossi had gone. Although it was now routine for the older man to rouse Hotch and make him take a break mid-day, the duration of that break was unpredictable. Sometimes it was no more than a brief stop at the vending machines. Other times it was a real lunch that involved a trip to a restaurant.

No one relished the thought of being caught rummaging about in Hotch's office, even if Prentiss could manufacture an excuse on the spot. Still, Morgan felt his honor and veracity were at stake…

"Okay, but you stand guard, Garcia. Prentiss and I'll be fast. If that hat's in there, it'll stick out like…like…"

"Like a lavender unicorn?" Emily couldn't resist.

Morgan's glare was eloquent. Decision reached, the three moved quickly. But they never made it to Hotch's office. They didn't need to.

"Uh…Derek?" In the lead, Prentiss halted at the top of the catwalk stairs. Morgan joined her just outside Hotch's door, following her expressionless gaze.

Only overtly noticeable to eyes that were seeking such a thing, the evidence of their leader's after-hours transformation lay before them.

Scattered grains of ruby-colored glitter traced a trail between Hotch's and Rossi's doors.


	55. Devolving Ducks

Outwardly, Bescardi was quiet and methodical. Inwardly, she was frantic.

_Not enough time! Not enough time! Not enough time!_

She felt the panic building every waking moment. It seeped into her dreams as well, making them seethe with anxiety, causing her to bolt upright, gasping, bathed in clammy sweat.

_First things first, Carol! You're a scientist. Methodology is everything. __**And**__ you're a genius. That in itself gives you permission to take extraordinary measures that lesser beings would fail to understand and would shrink from, mired in their inability to escape their limitations. FIRST THINGS FIRST, CAROL!_

She began to wonder if her time in prison had blunted the fine edge of her intellect. It was difficult to focus on the task at hand. She even began to make mistakes at work, which were brought to her attention, making her lip curl in contempt. Clearly, the job was beneath her. That's why it didn't claim her undivided attention. That's why errors cropped up. If filing and record-keeping had been _challenging_, then her performance would have been stellar.

_FIRST THINGS FIRST, CAROL!_

The primary goal was to procure the test subject. Once in her possession, she had no doubt she'd be able to find a lab space….

_Or create one. It wouldn't take much at first. The blood's the thing…_

So Bescardi began to steal. Breaks and lunchtime would find her wandering about the facility, far beyond the boundaries of the Records Department. Tubing, syringes, needles began to disappear. But Carol wasn't allowed to carry more than a small purse with her. It was searched at the end of every day when she returned to her prison cell. Luckily, the things she needed were small. And she only took what was necessary to get started.

_Once I've established myself…once I've revealed my findings to the scientific community…I'll be able to command the respect and resources due such significant discoveries._

Bescardi secreted her stolen goods in plastic bags taped to the bottom of her desk. She could check on their presence each morning simply by extending her leg and prodding at them with the toe of her shoe. When she realized no one was raising an alarm about the thefts, she rearranged her desk drawers, openly allotting two for her scavenged equipment.

She also began making withdrawals from her still intact bank account. It required she contact her attorney to do so, but he believed her when she said she needed proper clothing for work as well as cash for incidentals like lunches and transportation when she was sent on errands. The attorney didn't bother to check or he would have found that employees of the Records Department were never sent out of the facility in any official capacity. Nor did they require anything other than the standard issue white coat, provided gratis.

Bescardi hid her growing collection of funds in envelopes, also stashed within the confines of her desk. There was no reason for anyone to inspect her work station, and she was sure that she'd be gone with her booty before any reason to do so arose.

_Focus! FOCUS, Carol! Get the test subject and then get it away…someplace where you can begin your work again. Undisturbed._

In one of the largest, noisiest cities in the world, Bescardi was sure she could find a private corner where no one would care about a lone woman who appeared with a baby. And babies that young were so undistinguished when it came to physical features, even if an Amber alert were posted, it would be next to impossible to identify her test subject as the missing child.

Especially since, once in her possession, it wouldn't be going anywhere.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Rossi stirred some of the powdered cream that was one of the Bureau's cost-cutting measures into his coffee and watched Hotch preparing his own beverage. Tea. Plain. Nothing to spice it up. Nothing to sweeten it or give it tang. Unadorned.

He decided that 'unadorned' pretty much described the Unit Chief's life. Despite spending more time together and Rossi's occasional, small joke gifts, levity in general just wasn't a part of the younger man's existence. It had taken Rossi hours of observation and contemplation to finally come up with a diagnosis of why Hotch was such a solemn man.

_He never learned how to play. Not as a child. Not as a man. There was no one to show him that life should be more than just duty and drudgery._ Rossi sighed. _Even now, with Jack, he participates in his son's sports out of a sense of duty…not the pure joy of pointless play._

Whenever he thought of Hotch's childhood, Rossi's heart would squeeze itself into a giant ache. A combination of sorrow and outrage made it difficult to delve too deeply. Now, in the kitchen area, was no exception. He cleared his throat around the lump that sometimes formed on Hotch's behalf.

"Aaron?"

"Hmmm?" Dark, unsuspecting eyes flicked up for a split second, but then returned to the all-consuming task of dunking his teabag.

"It occurs to me that I need to teach you some…skills…that may have been neglected during your upbringing."

That caught the younger man's attention; his _wary_ attention.

"Skills?" The teabag had stopped its repetitive motion. Hotch's sharp, job-oriented mind was running over the time Rossi had spent training him, shepherding him into the BAU. Off the top of his head, he couldn't think of anything that might have been overlooked. Rossi had been, and still was, a thorough, patient, exemplary mentor. "What skills?"

"Well…." He brought his coffee over to where a cautious-looking Aaron stood. Placing an arm around his friend's shoulders, Rossi gave him a reassuring grin. "…the kind it's never too late to learn."

As the two exited the kitchen, they passed Morgan coming in. He was just in time to hear Rossi's question.

"How d'you feel about kites, Aaron? Ever played with kites?"

A befuddled Unit Chief took refuge in the act of sipping his tea.

A befuddled Morgan spent the rest of the morning trying to get the image of suited Hotch flying a kite out of his mind. Unfortunately, he'd seen a bright pink Barbie kite grasped in a little girl's hand in the checkout line at the neighborhood grocery store he frequented.

It figured prominently in the disturbing vision.

xxxxxxxxxx

Melinda Reid was an unusually quiet child.

It didn't indicate that there was anything developmentally wrong with her. Mute observation was a function of her extraordinarily curious, expanding mental capacity. She was in a stage where all stimuli were absorbed, tested and cataloged.

It gave her parents a few anxious moments when they realized that something that would make an average baby wail its loudest elicited an air of intense inspection from theirs. Only after she had explored source and effect, process and consequences, would their daughter decide on an appropriate reaction.

"How am I supposed to know she's in pain or in trouble or wants something, if she doesn't cry or scream or…_something_?" Ana expressed her concern to her husband.

"I don't know." Spencer would again make himself telepathically available to his daughter, but to no avail. "I guess we just have to wait and let her figure it out on her own."

xxxxxxxxx

Melinda Reid was an unusually compassionate child.

She sensed her parents' worry and began to incorporate a few, small, demanding cries in her repertoire of gurgles, coos and other baby communication.

Partly Her and Partly Him had already taught her to love. She wouldn't hurt either of them for the world.

Not that she knew what the world was or contained…exactly.

But she did wonder where in its vastness Beautiful Him had gone. She could track Beautiful Him sometimes, but she couldn't touch him.

So Melinda Reid bided her time by cataloging and exploring and testing…and waiting….


	56. Family Stuff

"What's the story with that new file clerk?"

"Dunno. One of those social outreach hires, I think. Not sure."

"She's kinda creepy."

"Be nice."

xxxxxxxxxx

One day.

One day away and she'd done her best to line up the ducks, but the end result was more a milling herd effect than the neat, precise line her analytical mind had envisioned.

Carol Bescardi had let some of her personal standards slip as well. No longer neatly coiffed and trimly turned –out, the necessity of moving quickly to make the most of time snatched during breaks and lunch had made inroads on her appearance.

It's doubtful David Rossi would have recognized her at first glance.

But despite the disheveled hair and the unfashionable prison-issue footwear, Bescardi's face still had the power to…arrest. Unfortunately, it did so for very different reasons. The striking woman with features that embodied an overstated elegance could now best be described as 'frazzled,' or 'stressed,' or even, if the onlooker was of an unkind bent, 'maniacal.'

She hunched over her keyboard as though devouring it. She startled easily. Sometimes she would open and close certain desk drawers repeatedly, without doing anything more than gazing at the contents, her lips moving soundlessly as though reciting something or counting to herself. Every once in a while she would stretch in her chair, extending one leg far beneath her desk and performing a strange, repetitive flexing of her foot, raising it until the toes grazed the underside of the furniture, checking the security of the envelopes and their stash of cash.

"What's she doing?" one of the other clerks had whispered to the Records Department supervisor.

"I think she might be a bit OCD, that's all." The supervisor had sighed and avoided making any more judgmental observation. It was just her luck that her department was considered the one where employees of questionable ability could be best contained. The relatively new girl, Carol, might just need some more time to fit in, though.

_Time will tell_, she thought. _But if she keeps making mistakes, we might need to find something else for her…janitorial work maybe._ She watched the clerk in question do her peculiar drawer-check, followed by her leg stretch and foot flex.

_I'll give her a few more days. Maybe she just needs to settle in and feel more comfortable here._ The supervisor shook her head and returned to her own workstation, resigned to once again checking the new hire's work for errors after she'd left for the day.

xxxxxxxxxx

One day.

Bescardi kept glancing at the large, white-faced wall clock on the opposite side of the room. Today was important. She would have to move fast and be focused when the lunch break began.

She'd managed to loosen one of the envelopes taped under her desk by prying at it with her toe all morning. She didn't think anyone had noticed. When the time came, at precisely noon, she'd drop her pen. While in the act of retrieving it, she'd pull the envelope the rest of the way off and slip it into the deep pocket of her lab coat. No one would be the wiser.

Today would require speed, focus and cash.

Today she would rent a room in what could only be called a sleazy dive. But it was perfect. It was a mere half-block away from the building that housed the office of George Evanston, pediatrician. It was one of the thousands upon thousands of such anonymous spaces that riddled the city. And anonymity was very important as she moved forward.

Fame would come soon enough, once her work was revealed to an astounded, applauding scientific community.

For now, anonymity was everything.

For now, Bescardi's lips moved in silent recitation of the supplies she would have to purchase and stock in her soon-to-be lab.

And a large tote bag. Mustn't forget that. It would come in handy transporting the various tools-of-the-trade she'd stolen.

And maybe her test subject as well.

_Only for half-a-block. It'll be fine in a bag for half-a-block._

xxxxxxxxxx

"I'm sorry." Reid's large, soft eyes shown with genuine regret. "They're calling us in and J.J. said to bring a go-bag. I'm sorry."

"Hmmmm." Ana laid her head against her husband's chest, letting herself rest in the wonderful, safe circle of his arms. "'S'okay. Next time…maybe."

"I can ask Hotch to let me sit this one out."

"Uh-uh. No way." She reared back, looking up high enough to make eye contact. "We're not gonna start that see-saw thing, making you choose between job and family."

Reid smiled down at her. "You sure? 'Cause I'd do anything for you."

Her smile echoed his. "I know you would. That's why I'm sure. You don't have to prove we come first." The smile turned mischievous. "Not yet, anyway."

Tomorrow was Melinda's second appointment with her pediatrician. Reid had wanted to be there; to meet the man and to lend his support during his daughter's first round of immunizations. His child's reactions weren't what you'd expect of a two-month-old baby. What was normal for Melinda wasn't THE norm. And even though her doctor was supposedly used to paranormal patients, Reid's paternal instinct made him want to stand guard over his little one.

"Just be safe, Spencer."

"Do my best."

While Reid freshened his go-bag, Ana picked Melinda up and held her close. "Daddy's going away, but he'll be back." She took every opportunity to keep her daughter in the loop about why her father was so often absent. And why every time he walked in the door, it was cause for celebration.

Mother and baby were waiting for Reid at the front door when he emerged from the bedroom, satchel looped over one shoulder, go-bag in hand. He began the ritual of leave-taking by resting his chin on Melinda's tummy and gazing into the eyes so like his own, waiting for her telepathic first contact.

Ana saw her husband's eyes go wide…wider…a huge grin transformed his face.

"What?" She was reluctant to interrupt, but she had to know what was happening. "I didn't 'hear' anything, Spencer…What?!"

Reid stood up, beaming at both his girls. "It wasn't words. But it was _something_. Something warm. Like a little breeze against my mind." He leaned back down to fill Melinda's field of vision again. "Was that you, Mellie-bear? Did you just touch Daddy?"

A gurgle and a small fist pumping the air was the only response. It was enough. Her parents laughed and regarded her with proud amazement.

Reid put down his bag and embraced his family again, allowing Ana to complete her part of the goodbye ritual. It was only slightly different from the words his wife had been saying to him almost from the start.

"Wherever you go, our love goes with you, Spencer." She finished telepathically…_Return to us safely, but if you can't…where you go, I go too._

With his wife's blessing and his daughter's warmth lingering in his mind, Reid left home a happy man.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Reid's almost ebullient mood on the jet was in stark contrast to the details of the case that called the team to Montana. When his cheerfulness defied and survived Garcia's horror-scape of photos, Morgan had to pry.

"Spill it, Pretty Boy. What's got you walkin' on sunshine today? Huh? Somebody get lucky this morning?"

"He's married, Morgan." Prentiss intervened on the youngest team member's behalf. "He can 'get lucky' pretty much whenever he wants." She tried to contain a chuckle. "Bet he 'gets lucky' a lot more than either of us."

Reid shook his head and smiled down at the files he was reviewing. He thought the novelty of having a wife and child would never wear off. "I'm happy, Morgan. It's just family stuff."

Rossi had watched the exchange, a silent observer. Now he glanced over to where Hotch was nose-to-the-grindstone deep in paperwork, and still sunburned from last weekend's foray into family kite-flying…his first. When the Unit Chief felt eyes on him, his own flicked upward. A slow reflection of Rossi's grin spread across the normally stoic face. After a moment, he returned to his work, but the older agent continued to watch him, smiling.

_Reid's got it right: family stuff's the best._


	57. Gone

The good news was that the case was solved in near record time.

The bad news was the way it reached resolution.

The unsub, a serial rapist, had taken his fourth victim hostage. Despite the combined negotiating talents of Hotch and Rossi, he'd opted for the coward's way out. And he'd brought the twenty-six-year-old mother of a toddler along for the ride. When the shots rang out, the team, along with a substantial contingent of local police and SWAT agents, had stormed the house where the unsub was holed up. They were too late.

At least the young woman had died quickly; a single shot behind one ear…execution style.

It was a grim group that sat in silence, wrapped in their individual thoughts, making the return trip home the next morning. Each agent was rerunning the sequence of events, wondering if they could have prevented a string of rapes being capped off by a murder-suicide.

Sullen outrage seethed beneath the surface when Hotch thought of the man who would never face trial, never face his victims. Personally, secretly, he was glad the unsub was dead. But he regretted the fact that his death deprived the families of those who'd been harmed a chance to see the slow wheels of justice crush the monster.

And then there was the matter of a two-year-old who would grow up motherless.

The job was to stop the criminal, not to fix the devastation he left in his wake. They were supposed to disengage, to avoid personal involvement. In that regard, Hotch rarely practiced what he preached. He regularly checked on the survivors in the aftermath. There wasn't anything he could do, but he needed to know. This time he'd found there were no relatives available to take the child. It would be consigned to the foster care system. His father's heart ached as he stared out the window during the long flight home.

xxxxxxxxxx

Rossi sat where he could keep an eye on Hotch.

He'd never intrude on the man's privacy, or disabuse him of the belief that no one knew how he brooded over the fate of victims…particularly those too young to have a say in what happened to them. But everyone knew when the cases hit their leader, no matter how skilled he thought he was at concealing his feelings.

_Hiding's an art he's been perfecting all his life,_ Rossi thought sadly. _He never learned how to play, but he certainly learned how to hide. Just not from those who love him. Maybe because there wasn't anyone around who did when he developed his hiding skills._

When Hotch rose and made his way to the tiny lavatory, several team members exchanged glances. They all knew he'd eventually emerge with eyes reddened from the sting of salt tears.

And no one would say a word.

The alpha wolf with the big heart needed his hiding place. No one would take that away from him.

xxxxxxxx

Reid didn't notice Hotch's emotional state, or the subtle interactions between the other agents.

He was lost in thoughts of his own. Thoughts that revolved around children. Particularly children who lost a parent. Particularly children who lost their mothers.

As disturbed as his own mother was, he would have been adrift without her after his father abandoned him. In spite of the rough road they'd traveled, Reid was eternally grateful for Diana's presence in his life.

_The only thing worse than losing a mother, is losing a child._

He stared at the clouds roiling outside the tiny, oval window, taking a moment to give thanks to whatever forces moved the universe for how his own life had turned out.

He was so lost in counting his blessings, it took him a moment to realize his phone was vibrating.

xxxxxxx

The Records Department supervisor where Carol Bescardi worked was seething.

The recent hire hadn't returned from her lunch break. She was over an hour late and hadn't bothered to contact anyone about her continued absence. The supervisor had no idea from where Human Resources had dredged the creature up, but enough was enough!

Being a little strange, having a few neurotic idiosyncrasies was acceptable. Even the inaccuracy of the woman's work could be tolerated to a certain extent. But dereliction of duty was where she drew the line. She lifted the receiver of her desk phone and punched in the extension for HR.

"Sam? Angela. What kind of game are you guys playing down there?"

A muffled buzz of indignation was all that could be heard by the clerks in the immediate area. Drama was rare in the Records Department. Every ear within hearing was tuned to their supervisor's angry retort.

"I mean where do you get the people you send me? The work we do here isn't glamorous or on the front lines, but _it's important_! How would you like to go in for a tonsillectomy and end up singing soprano because someone switched out your medical records? Huh?"

The buzz was a little less indignant, but it still wasn't backing down.

"Carol Bescardi, that's who. She was mediocre at best, but because you guys sent her to me, I was willing to work with her."

The buzz sounded querulous.

"Well I can't work with her if she doesn't even show up, now can I?!"

This time the buzz went on for a longer interval. When it clicked off, the supervisor had a distant look in her eye…something verging on shocked surprise. She replaced her receiver with a distracted air.

_So she was a prison inmate on work release and they didn't think to tell anyone? Because they thought it would hamper her in her efforts to fit in? ARE THEY KIDDING ME?!_

She stood up and went to the desk assigned to Carol Bescardi, doing as Sam in HR had instructed. She was to make sure no one touched anything. She was to wait for security.

Apparently, what she'd thought was 'dereliction of duty' might be a lot more serious.

xxxxxxxx

Taking Melinda to her doctor was a day-long proposition.

Ana had learned the first time to pack more than she thought they'd need. The train ride from Quantico to Penn Station took hours. Even a quiet baby like her daughter could grow restless. But the chugging white-noise as they traveled, and the motion of the cars, kept up soothing tactile and auditory rhythms.

Mother and child were calm and content as they exited the train. Ana, laden as she was with Melinda, diaper bag, and over-sized purse felt clumsy, but managed to hail a cab within minutes once they were out on the street. The driver was pleasant, even double-parking to help the young mother out, stepping out of his vehicle to drape her with the baby-oriented luggage necessary for the daily upkeep and comfort of her offspring. Shouting insults at the drivers honking in outrage at his illegal parking maneuver, he even opened the building door for his passenger, ushering her into the relative quiet and safety of a deserted lobby.

Ana was preoccupied with Melinda's upcoming ordeal. She'd been warned that vaccines would be part of the appointment and she was trying to shield her daughter from picking up on her own nervous anticipation.

"Everything's going to be fine, Melinda." She let her voice carry all the affection and protectiveness contained within her heart. "We'll see the nice doctor and then we'll go home and Daddy will be waiting." Reid had called her the night before, telling her he'd be home in the late afternoon. He hadn't gone into detail, but she'd been able to tell by his tone that things hadn't gone well. She was confident his spirits would lift once he was back in the arms of his family.

She didn't pay attention to the white-coated figure loitering in the lobby, apparently checking something on the building directory. The lab coat bestowed a certain authenticity; a right to be there. Ana was involved with trying to juggle her bags and her baby when the white coat slipped into the elevator car behind her. She felt waves of anxiety rolling off of the person, but it didn't set off alarms the way it would have in another setting. After all, she was feeling stress herself in anticipation of Melinda's appointment.

With her hands full, Ana asked the anonymous presence for help with floor selection.

"Excuse me, could you please press number three for me?"

Her first inkling that something was wrong was when the stranger's hand pressed number fifteen, the highest number on the panel of buttons.

Her first inkling that something was _drastically_, _seriously_ wrong was the blow to the back of her head.

xxxxxxxxx

No one paid any attention to the woman laden with tote bags and squalling baby as she hurried down the street. Her faded jeans and cambric shirt blended into the crowd. She was just a mother or other caretaker trying to get her little one from point A to point B.

xxxxxxxx

Most people scheduled medical appointments either early in the day, or as late as they could, trying to accommodate work schedules with as little disruption as possible. Fifteen minutes after Ana had entered the elevator, she was found. Lying on the floor, she was disoriented, bleeding from a gash on the back of her head.

As the man who discovered the injured woman tried to calm her and call for help, she cast about, frantically searching, but too groggy to do more than fail and fall back at every attempt to rise.

The only thing that shared the elevator car with her was a crumpled, white lab coat. Everything else was gone.

No diaper bag.

No over-sized purse.

No Melinda.

Ana raised her aching, bleeding head and howled her grief toward the uncaring elevator ceiling.


	58. Ducks Amok

Reid didn't recognize the number of the incoming call, but he did know the area code was one of those assigned to New York City.

"Hello?"

That was the precise moment when Spencer Reid's world came crashing down.

xxxxxxxxx

Hotch was splashing cold water on his tear-scalded eyes, confident his emotions went unnoticed by his team, when he heard the scream. He bolted from the lavatory, nearly tearing the door off its hinges.

Reid was on his knees, having crumpled out of his seat, unable to remain upright. Curled in on himself, forehead almost touching the floor, the sounds issuing from his throat were a cross between sobs and howls. It sounded as though they would tear his flesh and rupture his organs with their intensity.

For a moment Hotch's brain flashed on how he'd felt cradling dead Haley.

The others had leapt to Reid's aid. Morgan, J.J. and Prentiss crouched around their friend, frantic to discover the source of his pain. But Reid couldn't talk. All he could do was rock in cruel parody of a salaam, arms wrapped around his own midriff as though trying to hold himself together, bending closer and closer to the floor.

The young agent's phone had fallen from nerveless fingers. Rossi picked it up.

"WHO IS THIS!?" Forceful authority, a trademark of the oldest, most experienced agent's voice snapped across the miles, leaving no room for deliberation on the other end of the line.

"I…I…I was talking to Dr. Spencer Reid?"

"Well now you're talking to ME, so I'll ask you once more…WHO IS THIS!?"

The functionary on the other end of the line needed a moment to gather himself. He could hear grief-stricken yowling in the background and other raised voices. It sounded as though he'd dialed a number that led directly into the heart of Hell. It didn't make sense. The notification and status he'd been told to relay to the next-of-kin wasn't that bad! And the man he was talking to now sounded as though he was one breath away from crawling across the communication link and inflicting unimaginable pain on the caller. Slowly and for an extended period of time.

"I'm Greg Stanford…I work at Bellevue Medical Center in Manhattan…I…I just called to let Dr. Reid know we have his wife here…I…I…I…"

Rossi drew a deep, controlling breath even as his stomach dropped. "Alright. Please start again and tell me everything. I'm Supervisory Special Agent David Rossi of the FBI. Now…what happened?"

The caller sounded a little shaky, but regained his balance as he read from the chart he'd been handed for Ana Reid.

"She was attacked and sustained a laceration to the back of the head, resulting in concussion." The words speeded up as though trying to stave off being interrupted by another bout of emotion from the other end. "She's groggy and upset, so we sedated her. We'd like to keep her here overnight for observation. But…but she should be fine." Greg Stanford paused, waiting for a response other than someone dropping the phone and taking leave of his senses.

"What about the baby? Who's looking after Melinda?" Rossi's voice was tight with anxiety. Reid wouldn't have reacted the way he did if there wasn't more to the story.

"Like I told Dr. Reid, there's no baby. Uh…" Rapid shuffling could be heard. The paper-search was on for mention of anyone other than Ana Reid. "There's nothing here about anyone other than the patient." The voice trailed off. Finally, Greg Stanford was beginning to understand. "Oh…there _should_ have been a baby?"

He scanned the attached copy of the police report. "I'm sorry. There's nothing here about anyone else. But…." more shuffling. "…But the patient _did_ keep asking for her baby before she had to be sedated." More shuffling paper. "Ah!...Here we go!" Rossi's heart leapt with hope…and then plunged.

"She _did_ tell the officers who arrived at the scene that she'd had a baby with her." A note of misplaced triumph could be heard in the man's tone. "That's it! That's where the baby comes in. So I guess the police are looking for it right now."

"Her."

"What?"

"HER! The baby's a 'her.' And her name's Melinda."

xxxxxxxxx

Hotch only watched the scene before him and listened to Rossi's one-sided conversation long enough to grasp the situation.

While the others tried to support Reid back into his seat, the Unit Chief sprinted the length of the cabin. He rapped on the cockpit door with urgent, rapid, insistent force. The door cracked open.

"Sir?"

"You need to file a new flight plan…_now!_ Either JFK or La Guardia, whichever will take us."

Hotch hadn't intended to glare; it just came with the territory when he felt the helpless outrage and fear that coursed through him on Reid's behalf. But it did the trick.

"Yessir. Right away, sir."

xxxxxxxxx

Sandwiched between J.J. and Prentiss, Reid couldn't stop shivering. They'd managed to raise him back into his seat, but the emotion rendering his breath labored and his eyes wide, was beyond their ability to assuage.

Rossi and Hotch hovered, letting the women do their best to soothe and calm. Morgan had moved to the far end of the cabin, phone in hand, keeping his voice low as he spoke with Garcia.

J.J. ventured a tentative, hopeful question. "Ana'll be able to find her, though, won't she, Spence? I mean, aren't you guys all mentally connected? She'll be able to find Melinda, right?"

Reid shook his head and started a disconsolate sort of rocking, as much as the arms twined around him would allow. "No. No, it's not like that. No. You don't understand."

Rossi saw an inroad to getting the youngest member of the team to focus. "What's it like, Reid? Make us understand. What's it like?"

Reid's eyes flicked upward, locking with darker, more experienced ones; eyes that were broadcasting the desire to help. He nodded and sat a little straighter, trying to get his breathing under control.

"Ana can't do telepathy. Not unless I'm there. She sort of piggy-back's on mine. We don't know if Melinda can do it or not. I…I _think_ she can." Reid's face began to crumple with the memory of his daughter's warm touch brushing against him; her first contact that might have been incipient telepathy or empathy or something completely different and all her own. He pulled himself back from the edge of tears.

"The thing is…Ana's sedated and she's in a hospital. She doesn't do well in hospitals. Emotions flying around her are too many and too strong… and she can't…she just can't…"A deep, shuddering sigh. "And I'm too far a-away…" And Reid went over the precipice, unable to hold his grief and worry at bay anymore.

"Melinda…Melinda…my Mellie-bear…she's gone…she's gone…someone took her…"

No one could help. They let him cry.

xxxxxxxx

Bescardi burst through the door of her shabby, rented room.

Wild-eyed and panting, she plopped her wailing prize down into the cheap, collapsible playpen that looked more like a cage than something that belonged in a nursery. As yet, she hadn't been able to procure much in the way of furniture, but this was supposed to be a workspace more than a living area anyway.

She dropped the bags she'd taken from her former female test subject. Dropping onto the floor, she stared at the baby, M.C. Reid…the prize of all prizes when it came to paranormal investigative research. Or at least she hoped so. The proof would be in the test results.

But for now, Bescardi wanted to gloat over the extent of her success.

Her lip curled in derision. _Why did I ever bother with that stupid empath? She couldn't even defend herself!_

The good ex-doctor's memory had become quite selective. She'd edited out the fact that her primary objective in getting Ana to attend her psychic retreat was to ensure the presence of Dr. Reid, the primary test subject.

Her eye traveled from Melinda, who was hiccuping herself into smaller, less strident sobs, to the diaper bag and purse. _And thank you VERY much for the supplies, you imbecile!_ Bescardi threw her head back and laughed, releasing all the tension of the last few weeks.

The hard part was over; had gone better than she could have imagined, in fact.

_But now the __**real **__work begins._ She smiled, eyes lighting with anticipation. _And __**this**__ time…no running out before we're finished…no questions and resistance…and __**no**__ ridiculous watchdog._

_It's just us, subject Reid. Just us._

xxxxxxxx

Melinda had never cried to hard in her admittedly young life.

But the shock and the surprise and the fact that Partly Her was in terrible pain had drawn the sobs from her before she could even realize why she was crying.

And now she was someplace new with someone strange. Her curious, extraordinary brain absorbed the newness and the differences. The pain of Partly Her was fading.

Melinda went exploring. She'd extended a tentative, questioning touch toward her father recently; like the tendrils she could sometimes 'see' Partly Her send out. He'd laughed and smiled and made her feel welcome and loved. The love in Melinda's own heart, the love that comprised the lion's share of her…with the possible exception of curiosity…had swelled in response.

Now she sent a questing filament of inquiry toward Not Us.

And pulled back in hurt surprise.

Not Us had an image of Beautiful Him. But it wasn't right. It wasn't nice. Melinda didn't like for Beautiful Him to be there. Not Us wasn't where pictures of Beautiful Him belonged.

Melinda's abilities contracted into herself, eyes fixed on Not Us.

This was puzzling. This would require some thought. And thinking was so new, it might take some time to reconcile Beautiful Him's likeness in a place like Not Us.

In the meantime, Melinda tasted longing. She wanted Partly Her and Partly Him.

But she couldn't feel them anywhere. At least, not as she had come to recognize them. There was _something_, but it was held down and cloaked and…different.

Melinda didn't understand.

All she could do was wait.


	59. Too Many Storms

"Thanks, Mama." Morgan flipped his phone closed and looked over to where Reid was surrounded by the rest of the team. As uncomfortable as he was in Reid's weird, paranormal world, he still felt like a big brother to him. Of all the members of his team, Reid and Garcia touched his heart in a very special way. Pretty Boy and Baby Girl. They were quirky, and unique, and didn't quite mesh with the rest of the world…and they were his. His to protect. His to guide. He protected Hotch as well, but that was different. That was out of admiration and respect that had grown into a rough kind of love for the team alpha. Rossi, Hotch and Prentiss prowled; they stalked, moving through their lives with predatory grace and strength. Garcia and Reid…bumbled. Garcia and Reid were the pups Morgan looked out for.

And now every parent's nightmare had been served up to the boy-pup on a platter. Morgan swallowed, took a deep breath, and joined the group. Hotch shot him an inquiring glance.

"Garcia's hooking up with NYPD. She'll call us back as soon as she finds out anything."

Hotch nodded and returned his attention to the huddled mass of misery that was his youngest agent. He felt he had to say something, even if the words were meaningless, transparent attempts to comfort. It was all he could do…all _any_ of them could do while they were airborne.

"Reid, let's break this down. Step by step, okay?"

Tragic, wet eyes looked up, begging to be thrown a lifeline…anything would do.

"First, Ana's going to be fine. We'll get to her and you'll be together again, and she'll be fine." Hotch had to steady himself for the next part. Having just shed secret tears in the privacy of the lavatory for a nameless child he'd never seen, it was hard to keep his voice level when the subject was Melinda…_my goddaughter!_...He did a good job being stoic, but no one was fooled; their leader's heart was breaking right along with Reid's.

"And Melinda's an exceptional child. At some point, she'll be seen. She can't help but stand out. Someone will take notice of her and _that's_ when we'll find her." It was weak, but there wasn't much you could say to someone who probably had all the statistics pertaining to child abductions and kidnapping scrolling through his mind on a never-ending loop.

"She'll be fine," Hotch repeated with less bravado than he'd begun, mind working frantically to find a stronger thread of hope. _Statistics. Use the statistics, the probabilities. He'll relate to that and it __**will**__ make the picture less grim._

"And don't forget, Reid," Hotch continued, "Infant abduction is _very_ different from child abduction. In most cases, the baby isn't harmed. In fact, the unsub is usually female and wants a child of her own, so she makes every effort to see to the infant's needs."

At that, Reid looked up, locking eyes with his boss, wanting desperately to believe that his daughter was being cared for, was safe. He gulped back the sob that still wanted to burst forth, making his voice creak.

"That's true. That's true. Babies sur-survive a lot more than older children. That's t-true, Hotch."

"Of course it's true." J.J. snuggled her forehead against Reid's neck. "Melinda's okay. She's just lost, Spence; not in danger."

"And nobody's better at finding what's lost than we are." Prentiss did her best to sound confident.

Reid nodded, eyes going distant as he turned his teammates' words over and over in his mind, inspecting them, drawing scant comfort from them…but comfort nonetheless.

…Until the laptop sitting on the table central to their seating area gave its trademark _ping_, signaling that Garcia was incoming. Morgan leaned in closer, looking into the carnival-colored space the woman had created for herself to stave off the grim realities of her job.

"You got something for us, Mama?"

"Uh…Uh…ye-e-e-s, but…Oh, God, Derek…it's not good…" She tried to lower her voice. She desperately wanted to shield Reid from what she'd found. Garcia wanted to be the one to bring messages of joy. She wanted to hand them candle-lit cakes and bunting; not the things that slithered up on you and bit you, lacing your veins with poison. But everyone heard. Everyone knew something bad was lurking.

Knowing was preferable to imagining.

"_Garcia!_" Hotch's voice thundered his impatience, spurring his tech analyst forward.

"Uh…yes…Sir…" She took a shaky breath. "They found a lab coat in the elevator car where Ana was…uh…attacked, Sir." Garcia paused, a last irrational attempt to hold back the worst news; to protect her babies.

"And?"

The rest came out in a rush. Once begun, Garcia wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible.

"And 'MedTech Central Laboratories' was embroidered on the pocket. And when they followed up and they called the lab, they found out one of their file clerks had disappeared…never returned from her lunch break…and…oh, Sir…" The moisture trembling in Garcia's eyes resolved itself into tears, spilling over. "That employee was Carol Bescardi."

"_**WHAT?!**_" Rossi's roar made the computer tech flinch. "_**HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE?!**_"

Reid had gone very still. Hotch had backed away a few steps. Blank shock had usurped the others' features.

Every day the FBI received the names, locations and release dates of felons who'd served their time in the nation's penal system. Rossi had set up his own set of checks and balances. He regularly cross-referenced the extensive list of former unsubs who had any ties to cases worked by the BAU. Nothing had alerted him to Carol Bescardi's reemergence into society. Garcia was the one who'd written the simple program. Now she felt partially responsible for this lapse in what had seemed reasonably secure and accurate.

"Oh…oh…Sir…It's because she wasn't _freed_. Not technically, really, anyway. She…she…was on _work_ release and they said she was a model prisoner and was doing everything right…until…until…" Garcia's trembling voice faded.

"Until…_this_." Rossi finished for her. He knew it wasn't the analyst's fault. But he just couldn't believe that a nightmare had been brewing all this time right under their noses and had now reared up and blindsided them in one of the most terrible ways imaginable.

Morgan was shaking his head in stunned disbelief as well. "My God. Do you realize all the things that had to fall into place for her to do this? To even _find_ Reid and his family? This is…this is…"

"Another perfect storm." Reid's voice was tiny, grown small with terror for his child.

_Perfect storm_.

The term resonated in Hotch. He backed farther away from the group huddled around Reid and the digital image of Garcia.

_Perfect storm._

He moved to the opposite end of the cabin, his mind speeding through images and phrases gleaned while he wasn't quite himself…wasn't quite conscious.

_Perfect storm._

Someone had called him 'Melinda's perfect storm.' His back hit the far cabin wall. He realized one hand was wrapped around the other's wrist, fingering beads imbued with a power he didn't understand.

_Reid's too far away to use his telepathy, but maybe Melinda's not. She felt me when I got shot. She transferred that pain to Ana. _Hotch did some rapid calculations. _That was around500 miles. This is so much more. But even though she's only a couple months old, she's more mature now than when she did that. It might not work. But then again… it might._

He looked at the young father, grieving and helpless.

_I'm sorry, Jack. If I don't come back from this…if it changes me somehow…I'm sorry._

He watched Rossi lending his support, trying to lessen Reid's pain.

_I'm sorry, Dave. I loved being your son, even if it was only for a little while…I'm sorry._

He didn't know what, if anything, would happen. But in case he was incapacitated, he wanted them to know what he'd done…to _use_ what he'd done to find Melinda. Quietly, without fanfare, Hotch slipped the bracelet he'd sworn to wear every minute of every day off. He tucked it into the space between two seat cushions, using his long fingers to push it down, making sure it wasn't visible. He didn't want them searching for it and putting it back on him. At least, not until his goddaughter had been given a fair chance to find him.

Rolling up his sleeves, so the team would see the bracelet's absence, in case he didn't make it back to their end of the cabin, Hotch tried to calm himself. He tried to make himself…_attractive…_mentally, spiritually. He wasn't sure what to do or how it worked, so he drew on the time he'd gone in search of Reid, when the younger agent had been stranded, trapped in a killer's psyche.

It seemed so long ago, but he remembered his desperation, his refusal to let Reid go.

As Hotch walked toward his team, he concentrated with every fierce, fiber of his being.

_Melinda…baby…little one…loved one…find me…Find me…FIND ME…_

"What the…?!" Morgan saw a very pale Unit Chief approaching with uncertain steps.

Rossi heard the puzzled exclamation and followed Morgan's glance. And immediately noticed the bare arms, the wrists unencumbered by the talisman he'd been making sure Hotch wore every day.

"Aaron?"

The others looked up.

xxxxxxxx

Hotch almost made it back to the group on his own. But not quite. He collapsed before Morgan could catch him, felled by an incoming wave of fear and sorrow. But holding on to a tiny thrill of triumph.

Melinda had found him.

_Good girl…_


	60. In Flight

"Get him up." Rossi's voice was rough with concern and self-recrimination.

_I should have __**known**__ he'd do something like this. Big, dumb, stupid, loveable, idiotic, brave, moronic, selfless…_ He couldn't continue berating Hotch, even in his own thoughts. He was too worried, and too scared. And feeling rather isolated.

Everyone knew Reid's daughter was at risk. No one knew it was Rossi's son who had just endangered himself.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Melinda was frightened. This place wasn't warm and bright like the space she was used to. And when she was taken out of what she would later learn to call 'home,' there had always been the alternative warmth and security of Partly Her's arms. But Partly Her was somewhere else and behaving like some_one_ else. Panicked and drugged and hurting. And struggling. And it _hurt. _It hurt, it hurt, it hurt to get too close to Partly Her right now.

Little Melinda vaguely remembered The Power. He had tried to instill in her a respect for Beautiful Him's sanctity, for his need to be left alone. And at the same time, something new had appeared around Beautiful Him. Even when she tested for Beautiful Him's presence, there had been a blocking. She couldn't touch that perfect place so easily anymore. It slowed her every time she tried just long enough for her to remember The Power's warnings. _If you love him, leave him alone. Leave him. Alone. Alone. Alone._

But Alone was such a terrible thing!

Melinda didn't _want_ to be alone. She couldn't understand how it could be a good thing for _anyone_.

She tried reaching out to the Not Us again. But it was intolerable. In her first conscious demonstration of endurance, Melinda tried to look deeper in spite of the discomfort. It became worse than intolerable. Not only was the image of Beautiful Him twisted and warped into a lie, but she saw Partly Him and Partly Her as well. The images were all wrong. All bad. There was no comfort to be found in Not Us.

The images were wrong, wrong, _wrong_…

In desperation, she sent her psychic tendrils streaming outward, powered by fear and tears. And then…

…far, far away, almost beyond reach, she found Partly Him. It was faint and her heart sank when she realized whatever was making Partly Her hard to be around, had also gripped Partly Him. Melinda wailed and was about to give up and return to the chilly, bad place where Not Us was staring at her and laughing, when…

…_Find me…Find me…little one…loved one…Find…me…_

It wasn't the words that enticed her. It was the curiously familiar mixture of energy and desire.

It was…beautiful. Beautiful Him. Calling for her as she'd known he would someday.

Someday was now.

With gratitude and love, and all the terror and grief her young soul could contain, Melinda slammed into Beautiful Him. She clung to him and poured out her heart.

And even though some of the same bad thing transforming Partly Him and Partly Her lingered there, there were also streams of energy that were pure and untouched by the bad thing…echoes of the Partly Him and Partly Her from before the bad thing had happened, that Melinda knew and recognized and loved. At long last she could touch Beautiful Him, and it felt so, so, so, good, good, good…

xxxxx

Morgan and Rossi laid Hotch out on the longest banquette in the cabin.

He was narrow enough so Rossi could sit beside him, leaning over him, debating whether a smack or a hug was in order. He settled for thumbing away the tears leaking out of the corners of the Unit Chief's eyes.

Morgan had backed off, knowing something paranormal was taking place. As much as he wanted to protect Hotch, this was beyond his power to fight. _And __**that's**__ why I hate this stuff!_

Garcia's face still gazed out of the laptop screen, wide-eyed and helpless. J.J. and Prentiss kept a wary watch over what was happening to their leader, but remained close to Reid.

Reid had been so wrapped up in his own private hell, it took him a moment to realize a fresh one had blossomed, twining around Hotch with a firm, sticky grip. He saw Rossi grasping the fallen man's wrists…his bare wrists. More than anyone else, Reid knew what that meant. As torn as he was over Melinda, he struggled to his feet. Moving to where Hotch lay, he fell to his knees beside him.

"Hotch?" Reid saw Rossi wiping away endless tears. Hotch's eyes were wide, the pupils dilated with terror and a surfeit of emotion.

"What's going on?" Prentiss' question was low, meant for J.J.'s ears alone, but sudden silence in the cabin as attention turned to Hotch made it audible to everyone.

Rossi's growl answered her. "He took off the damn bracelet. He took it off and now God knows what's happening to his mind." The dark, overwrought eyes fixed on Rossi. It looked as though Hotch wanted to communicate something, but couldn't fight his way past whatever was twisting, squeezing his emotions to its own purpose.

"Morgan! Find that bracelet. It's here somewhere." Rossi snapped the order without breaking eye contact with Hotch.

"I just hope he didn't flush it down the toilet," Morgan muttered as he crouched his way down the aisle, looking in and under every seating station.

"I don't think he did." Prentiss had a predator's skill: she subconsciously tracked everyone in her vicinity. She didn't recall Hotch entering the lavatory since Reid's collapse. His sleeves had been down. She was sure he'd shed the talisman in the last few minutes, and somewhere in the cabin.

Reid was staring into Hotch's face, concern etched on top of the worry he already carried for his missing daughter. "Hotch, you shouldn't have done that. Your psyche hasn't healed and if it's open to _anything_…"

The Unit Chief's eyes flicked from Rossi to Reid. The tears continued to flow, but he managed to rasp out a response. "No….not _anything_…"

Morgan had made his first transit of the cabin and come up empty. Now he was tearing the place apart. Supplies from the kitchenette clattered and smashed to the floor as he rooted through them.

"Can't you help him? Spence?" J.J. didn't know how much longer she could watch this strong, tough man she admired lie trembling, awash in his own tears.

"I'm not supposed to touch his mind. _No one_ is anymore." The question brought back ugly memories of when Hotch's psyche had been turned into a veritable haunted house, harboring the vivid, eidetically preserved images of the worst, most horrifying aspects of Reid's experiences with the BAU. He couldn't…_wouldn't_…risk subjecting Hotch to that again.

Morgan had moved on. He was tearing the seating structures apart. Cushions that doubled as emergency flotation devices arced through the air. Rending, tearing, ripping noises accompanied his frantic search.

Hotch's frustration was peaking. Melinda had hit him with such force and emotion, he couldn't pull himself away from its power enough to tell Reid 'Your daughter's _here_! She's right _here_!' It was Melinda's tears that Rossi was soothing away; Melinda's terrified, grateful grip that was keeping Hotch down.

"GOT IT!" Morgan held the beaded trophy above his head, brandishing it like a battle flag. He sprinted back to where Reid and Rossi were leaning over Hotch's supine body. "Hid it between the seat frames. Here." He dropped the bracelet into Rossi's outstretched hand.

Reid was torn. The way Hotch was acting, there was a possibility that Melinda was in touch with him. But it was a remote possibility. The distance between the two was just too great. Still, it _was_ a possibility. But if he touched Hotch's mind to check, there was a much greater chance of doing damage to his friend than of finding his daughter. _I want to…I can't…but I want to…_

Bracelet at the ready, Rossi grabbed Hotch's wrist.

"_**NO!**_" With strength born of desperation, the Unit Chief roared, wrenching his hand from Rossi's grip. Before Reid could react, Hotch pulled him close, slamming the younger agent's hand against his chest. Reid knew what the gesture meant. It was how he'd needed to touch Hotch in the beginning in order to access his mind. It was a plea and a surrender. He didn't need to hear the words his leader rasped out, eyes still brimming, but locked onto the younger agent's, begging for understanding.

"She's _here_."

The father won out over the friend.

Reid went after his daughter.


	61. Vision Quest

They'd seen it before.

Hotch holding Reid's hand to his chest, eyes closed, giving himself up to something he didn't understand and the outcome of which he couldn't predict. It was an act of pure trust. It was their leader.

And considering what such contact had done to him in the past, it was an act of pure bravery. That, too, was their leader.

All they could do was wait.

Rossi scooted in closer. Without disturbing the contact between Reid and Hotch, he placed a hand on the opposite side of Aaron's waist. It was comforting just to feel body warmth and the slight expansion of respiration, so much less than the rapidly moving chest. After a moment, he spoke softly, but still with enough authority to break through the spell that seemed to hold them in silent vigil, watching the two men locked in some sort of psychic bond.

"Emily, help Garcia find a phone number for Millie's B&B. You talk to her; she'll remember you fondly, I think." He paused feeling a tremor run through Hotch. "Give her a message for that old doctor."

"Okay. Okay." Prentiss leaned forward, watching the older agent's sad eyes. "What message?"

"Just say 'Aaron needs you.' Got it?"

"Sure." Prentiss nodded, retreating to the table where the laptop and Garcia's barely contained tears waited.

Rossi tuned them out as they discussed the logistics involved in obtaining a phone number when the town in which the phone was located had no name. He wasn't really worried. He'd noticed the faux-Victorian, mauve phone Millie had on an ornate, little occasional table. Garcia would ferret it out. He was more concerned with whatever was going on in Aaron's mind.

He swallowed hard as Hotch's free hand, the one that wasn't clasping Reid's to his chest, inched toward him. Rossi placed his on top of it, squeezing hard, rubbing his thumb in comforting arcs across the sharp wrist bone.

He was about to bow his head and say a silent prayer when he felt Morgan move closer. When the agent spoke, his words were clearly meant for Rossi's ears only.

"Are you okay? Rossi?"

"I'm not the one to worry about."

There was a pause. Morgan shifted, voice lowering even more. "What's the deal between you and Hotch?" Rossi turned and looked his colleague in the eyes, searching for the deeper meaning he knew was there.

"C'mon, man. I know something's going on. Ever since you guys got back from that weird place where Reid's kid was born, things have been…different." Morgan's voice gentled. "I'd like to understand, Rossi." He ducked his head. "I just feel like I can protect you guys better if I can predict you better. I'm only asking because I wanna do my best for both of you."

So because it would make Morgan stop asking questions, stop watching and worrying, as Rossi had known he was…because he wanted to let someone know what was at stake for him personally…but mostly because it would feel really good to finally say it out loud, to finally tell someone…Rossi did.

"He's my son, Morgan. Aaron's my son."

xxxxxxxx

It was the mental equivalent of having your child sob in your arms.

It was an uncontrollable mixture of relief and grief. And Reid knew it had to be leaving its mark on Hotch. Or rather, _in_ Hotch.

He tried to keep his own emotions in check, but in the strange duality that attended this type of psychic travel, he could feel Hotch's heart rate soaring, Hotch's chest heaving beneath his palm.

_Melinda…Mellie-bear…baby…it's okay…it's okay…Daddy's here…Calm down, sweetheart…calm…calm…calm…down …I'm here…I've got you…_

Feeling his daughter's mind press up against his own, brought out a savage burst of paternal love and protectiveness, followed almost immediately by hate for the one who'd abducted her. Reid did his best to quell his reactions. He realized that they were not only leaving marks on Hotch's open psyche, but Melinda was absorbing them as well. So many parents discounted what they said or did in the presence of their young children, believing their lack of maturity and understanding lent the parents a sort of camouflage. But Reid could feel his daughter's curiosity pulling in every thought, every sensation…storing it for future study.

It humbled him to think he was her example, the standard against which she would measure herself as well as others. He didn't feel worthy. But mostly, he felt scared.

Now that he was with Melinda, he realized he was no closer to being able to save her.

xxxxxxxx

Bescardi felt she deserved some gloating-time. She'd earned it. And once again she'd proven her superiority when measured against the bulk of humanity.

_Or maybe __**all**__ of humanity!_ She gasped out a self-congratulatory laugh as she watched her prize curled up in the playpen.

She still needed to gather some supplies, but now that her time was her own and she didn't have to conform to the schedule imposed upon her by a world of inferiors, the urgency of the situation wasn't pressing on her. She could luxuriate and proceed at her own pace; the proper, sedate pace at which tests should be conducted and results tabulated.

This would be so different from the hurried, harried way she'd had to work at that ill-fated psychic retreat! She stretched her legs out before her, letting her head loll against the reliable solidity of the wall at her back. Closing her eyes, she went over the sequence of events, how everything had started on such a hopeful, helpful path and then gone inexplicably awry.

_No. __**Not**__ inexplicably. It all started with that regrettable watchdog._

She recalled how he'd glared like some kind of vulpine beast. How he'd marked his territory where they took their meals, where they were supposed to sleep. How, instead of admitting defeat and staying still like a good, obedient, _smart_ watchdog, he'd struggled and sent himself plummeting over a precipice. But what she remembered most was the stupid, unwitting smile on his narrow, fox face when he'd accepted the cup of coffee laced with her beautifully tailored, designer drug.

Bescardi laughed again. All the effort the watchdog had exerted, nosing around, deluding himself that he could protect his charges!

_Fool! In the end it wasn't any merit of yours that laid my plans to waste! It was my own soft-heartedness. I should have poisoned you. You deserved arsenic, not some beautifully customized product of my pharmaceutical genius!_

She frowned, the child had stopped crying and was simply regarding her with its honey-colored stare. There was something unsettling about it.

Something aware.

Something hostile.

xxxxxxx

Knowing his daughter was alive and well, albeit terrified, went a long way toward soothing Reid's own state of mind.

His first priority was calming Melinda. He reasoned if he could ease her emotional outburst, he might be able to glean some scrap of information that would help in locating her.

_Shhhhh…Shhhhh…I'm here…everything's going to be fine…Daddy's here…Shhhh…_

Gradually the child's distress ebbed. Reid knew he hadn't accomplished that on his own; he could feel Melinda drawing comfort from Hotch as well. Hotch was the common ground on which he and his daughter could meet. As grateful as he was, Reid knew each passing moment was widening the wounds in his friend's psyche. Time was of the essence.

He wished Ana were here to help. She was so good at stabilizing him, at lending him her strength and bolstering his spirit.

_Ana…_

He wished he were holding her tight, letting her see through his eyes so she could gasp in amazement at the rainbow auras that psychic energy spawned.

_See through my eyes…_

Mentally, Reid held his breath. He didn't know if it was possible, but what if…?

With a gentle touch of fine precision, he felt along Melinda's trajectory and stretched himself and his abilities farther and thinner than he'd ever thought possible. He knew she didn't grasp vocabulary yet, but he hoped she'd gather images from what he was thinking of doing. He didn't want to frighten her any more than she already was. Her trust in him was implicit and complete. He had a feeling this child with his curiosity and more than his talent, might not be able to help…but certainly wouldn't resist.

He stretched…and reached…and felt himself attenuate…and…

…he could see through Melinda's eyes.

Reid heard the echo of his mother's words…_She'll have your eyes, Spencer._

With a shiver he knew that back in the jet, at Hotch's side, his daughter was seeing through his, too.


	62. Sight

For a moment Morgan was rendered speechless.

He pulled back, frowning. "Your son… He's your _son_?"

Rossi nodded, returning his attention to Hotch. He hadn't expected his claim of paternity to be accepted at face value. But one side of his lips quirked upward at the corner. It _had_ felt good to say it out loud.

Morgan craned his neck around Rossi's shoulder and Reid's bowed head to scan the Unit Chief's face. Rossi was more compact. He looked comfortable, at ease in his own skin, which had a mellow, olive tone; an homage to his Mediterranean heritage. Morgan thought Hotch, on the other hand, sometimes looked so angular that his bones were trying to push through his skin…skin which was several shades paler than his supposed father's. Other than both men having dark hair and dark eyes, there wasn't much similarity.

_And if you go by the eye and hair color…hell, __**I**__ could be counted a relative!_

Then he remembered the timeline when the relationship between the two senior agents had shifted to something other than simple friendship. They'd both just returned from the place Morgan liked to think of as Supernatural Freak-Town.

_It's that place. __**Nothing**__ normal comes out of that place. _He pulled back even further and regarded Rossi with a jaundiced eye. _If they're related, and they learned about it there…_

Morgan decided to shelve attempts to probe any deeper until he was sure he wanted to know whatever strangeness might be lurking around the corner. But the deep-rooted concern in Rossi's whole posture, his whole demeanor, struck a responsive note in Morgan's heart. He sighed and gave the older agent's back a companionable pat in passing.

Rossi felt his inquisitive colleague retreat. He let the other side of his lips quirk upward at the almost palpable puzzlement he sensed in the man. But it was only a brief ghost of a smile. It disappeared when his hand, resting on Hotch's waist, felt another tremor pass beneath it.

xxxxxxxx

"Hello?! Hello?!"

It sounded like someone whose phone _never_ rang; someone who answered with a combination of dread and surprised curiosity, unsure whether the ringtone presaged good news or bad; unsure what possible reason the instrument could have for shrilling at one, demanding its receiver be picked up.

"Hello. Is this Millie's Bed and Breakfast?" Prentiss knew it was. When Garcia declared the establishment's number found, you could bet your bottom dollar the information was reliable. But the voice on the other end was puffing and sounded unsure of its _own_ identity. Prentiss wanted to give the little proprietress a moment to compose herself. Otherwise, even Rossi's simple message might stand a good chance of being hopelessly muddled before it reached its destination.

"Uh…Yes! Yes, this is Millie's." A heartbeat's pause, then an almost indignant demand… "Who's _this_?!"

"It's Emily Prentiss, Miss Millie."

Silence.

"I was a guest several months ago?"

Breathy silence.

"You taught me how to crochet?"

_Uncomfortable_ silence. Possibly a precursor to hanging up.

Prentiss sighed. Time to admit defeat and deploy the spur to Millie's memory she'd been hoping to avoid.

"It's Emily…" She swallowed, trying not to choke on the next word, nor to be overheard by anyone else in her proximity. "…Emily…_Princess…_"

She was rewarded with a relieved and happy gasp. "Oh, of _course_! Miss Princess! Oh, my…How _are_ you, my dear?"

"Great. Just great." In truth 'Miss Princess' sounded a bit sickly; J.J. had heard. She was biting her bottom lip in an earnest attempt not to interrupt with undignified snorts of amusement. Emily had a feeling 'princess' wasn't private any more. "Princess" had jumped the fence and was out of control. "Princess' was about to ricochet around her associates. "Princess" would be her own personal lavender unicorn.

xxxxxxxxx

Reid's stare was baleful.

Through Melinda's eyes he saw the woman who had taken his child, had injured his wife. For the first time in his life, Reid tasted pure hate, bubbling up from depths he hadn't known he contained. Gentle Spencer Reid always found a way to understand, or forgive, or accept, or ignore. But this was different. This hit him in a profoundly personal way.

And as soon as he felt this purest of venoms, he squashed it, aware that it could affect both Hotch and his daughter. Reid realized he didn't want this negative, dark thing within himself to taint Melinda. He'd been privately worried since Ana had become pregnant, that he wouldn't know how to be a good father, having grown up without one. Now he understood that he needn't have been concerned. It was instinctive. He no longer thought of himself or his team first. He thought of his child. His reaction was thoughtless and chromosome-deep.

Which made what he was seeing all the worse.

_How does someone bypass eons of evolution? 'Protect the children' is programmed into us, into our survival, our very identity as a species. What has to go so wrong that one of us doesn't share humanity's deepest genetic commandment?_

Almost simultaneous with the question, came the answer. Reid had seen enough atrocities perpetrated by mankind upon its brethren to think he'd lost his idealism, his innocence. Brains went awry. Instincts were short-circuited and derailed. There were as many reasons as there were monsters.

_And there are __**always**__ more monsters…. So why am I so shocked every time?_

Reid stared at the disheveled Bescardi before him.

_Because I don't want that to be Melinda's world. I want to bequeath her a better place…a safer place. And I'll fight for that and for her with all my strength, my breath, my blood…my life…my love._

Spencer's slow tear leaked out of Melinda's eye.

xxxxxxxx

Melinda gazed down at the beautiful face shielding the most comfortable mind.

Her fear had dissipated. In its place was a peaceful kind of awe. She'd never seen Beautiful Him from this angle. She wanted to dive into him and never come out.

But when his eyes slitted open just enough to show a dark glitter, she felt the…_wrongness_…of it. Something was hurting him. This was part of that puzzle about Alone being a good thing. She didn't understand. She loved him. With Partly Her and Partly Him in such turmoil, Beautiful Him was the only safe place left.

He was her home. And that hurt him. Love hurt him. Poor Beautiful Him…

Melinda's slow tear leaked from Spencer's eye.

xxxxxxxx

He'd been wondering when this day would come.

Gnarled hands resting on top of the familiar, old desk that he'd built himself a century or two ago…_Who can keep track anymore?_...the doctor gazed with his own, special sight into the timelines converging on this moment.

Ever since Julio Ruiz had stepped in to share his work, he'd been toying with the idea of leaving, of exploring the world he'd forsaken in the name of practicing his healing arts. He'd been waiting for the right incentive; one that would dovetail with his talents and be reason enough to abandon all he'd built, albeit leaving his work in the Palero priest's capable hands.

"Aaron needs you."

Millie had delivered the message, puffed with pride at being a courier for information entrusted to her by the FBI.

Even the doctor's talents were subject to distance. He hadn't used a phone for a very long time. But he'd managed to connect with a member of Aaron's group; a woman whom he'd never met. Beneath her breathless chatter, he'd sensed a fine mind. She'd given him a number for Aaron and for his once-and-future-father as well.

A slow smile spread across the kindly, wrinkled features.

"Aaron needs you."

_Well, then Aaron shall have me._

xxxxxxxxx

Consummate, paranormal researcher Carol Bescardi didn't like the way her test subject was staring at her. If she didn't know any better, she'd say it was studying her…_cataloging_ her.

_But this could be a sign that it is indeed its father's issue. An exceptional ESP-er._

Bescardi's own eyes glittered with greedy anticipation as they met the baby's gaze. She needed to pick up a few more items before she could begin testing, but she had the feeling she was about to embark on the quintessential journey of her career…the one which would define her as a scientist and as a person. It would be her peak.

She could hardly wait.

She gathered herself together, preparatory to making a short shopping trip.

xxxxxxxxx

Through Melinda's eyes, Reid's eidetic memory took in Bescardi's appearance; every visible detail noted and stored.

Slowly, gently, he pulled himself back…back…back to where his team waited.

He needed to know exactly what time it was. A plan was forming. It might not be able to pinpoint where Melinda was, but, with perseverance and diligence, it could at least put him in the ballpark.

The hard part now would be making Melinda understand that she needed to leave Hotch…and consequently her father, for a while. Reid's heart squeezed with a parent's pain at the thought of sending his child back to that place…alone.

Just as he'd tried to keep his hate from tainting her, now he would have to protect her from his fear and the pain of separation.

Even as he sent her back to that dingy room where nothing but fear and pain could ever feel at home.

_Forgive me, Mellie-bear…_


	63. Tracks Left Behind

The hardest thing he'd ever done was make his daughter return to that place.

When Reid had accomplished the task, had persuaded Melinda to abandon Hotch and made her understand that she wasn't really alone, _never_ really alone, as long as he drew breath…that he'd be coming for her…that he'd never _stop_ coming for her…he'd felt something within him tear apart in long, slow, agonizing rips. He thought it might be his heart.

He'd surprised himself with the iron strength of will he'd exerted to keep his emotions from overwhelming his defenseless daughter. He'd done his best to be firm and certain in order to imbue her with all the security of his own determination to find her. But he wasn't sure of his success. There was no way to be certain of Melinda's perceptions. She might have seen through him, without necessarily understanding what she was sensing.

Reid felt like a liar.

When the connection with his daughter was severed, when she was clear of Hotch, the young father had a terrible moment. He wanted to let go of all the control he'd been exerting; to scream in a never-ending crescendo that would make the entire world fall still to listen, awash in pain as soul-searing as what was ripping through him. But there was no time for such self-centered release. Hotch was still pressing Reid's hand against his chest. The movement of his friend's ribs as he panted, felt fragile and desperate.

Reid sensed, as he vacated, that the Unit Chief's psyche was indeed wounded; that damage _had_ been done. Again, he fought against his natural desire to investigate, to see if he could help and heal. He couldn't take the chance that his continued presence might worsen Hotch's condition.

And there were things he needed to do to find Melinda. Once again, he chose being a father over being a friend. He knew Hotch would understand.

He threw himself clear, pulling his hand out from under the Unit Chief's. Finally, he allowed himself the sob he'd been holding in.

But only one. Time was pressing.

xxxxxxxx

Reid fell back…and Rossi moved in.

To his credit, Morgan did, too; shelving his antipathy for whatever supernatural event had just occurred, and for the equally eerie connection between the two senior agents. He knelt beside Hotch while Rossi leaned forward, still holding one of his friend's hands, his other placed against the jugular as he monitored the racing pulse.

Hotch's eyes blinked, but looked bleary, still streaming the tears of the father and daughter who'd inhabited him.

"Aaron. Aaron. Focus, Aaron." Rossi rested a palm alongside the angular cheek. "C'mon. Look at me. Aaron."

For a moment the dark eyes flicked up, but then they closed. Hotch rolled up and swung his feet around, forcing Rossi to stand while his friend assumed a sitting position. Hotch leaned over his knees, hands gripping his head, breathing still labored. Rossi and Morgan took seats on each side of him.

Hotch could feel their support; hands on his back, his shoulders, at his waist.

But his brain felt…_disturbed_…. Like a calm body of water whose surface is assaulted by a sudden hailstorm. Ripples spreading outward encountered ripples spreading inward, creating a chaos of patterned disruption.

Rossi had asked him to focus, but it was the one thing he couldn't do. All he could manage was to gasp out…

… "I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay…"

Rossi's and Morgan's eyes met over their friend's bent back. They both knew the words were a reflex, a way of telling them to leave him alone, to move on to other more important things than one damaged agent.

Rossi's phone chimed at the same time Garcia's virtual presence blinked on, blurting out to anyone who'd listen that the strange, old doctor she'd heard so much about, but never met, had contacted her.

Rossi checked the unknown caller ID. He knew the area code was from somewhere in upstate New York.

He took the call.

xxxxxxxxxxx

The doctor had kept abreast of political, social, environmental, and, of course, medical developments, but following along via internet was a far cry from immersing oneself in the experience firsthand. Reacquainting himself with the outside almost occupied him enough to take the edge off the bad feeling he had about the FBI agents and the telepath's family. After a brief discussion with Aaron's once-and-future-father, his concern for all the members of the team deepened.

They didn't know what forces they were accessing, possibly invoking. Even the telepath didn't see the whole picture, blinded as he was by paternal instinct.

The child was powerful. In and of itself, that didn't alarm the elderly physician. After all, _he_ was powerful, too. More so than the little one, because she hadn't learned herself yet. And therein was the problem.

_She should have been allowed to develop her psychic and ethical skills in tandem. Her parents would have led her to an understanding of right and wrong, of control and consideration. But…__**now**__…her talents are being provoked, tampered with. It's too soon. _A slow anger began to burn deep within the doctor's kindly soul.

_The child has no moral compass. She needs her parents for that._

He'd had plenty of opportunity to read the empath and the telepath. They were gentle souls who, despite second-guessing and stumbling through their self-doubt, were admirably suited to be parents. He'd been looking forward to watching their baby grow, to meeting her from time to time and getting to know her, finally, as an adult. But now…_this._

The doctor was waiting in an open field a few miles beyond his little settlement. He'd smiled when Aaron's father had offered to make travel arrangements for him. He lived simply, which gave the few outsiders he met the idea that his finances were humble.

Quite the opposite.

One of the perks of extreme longevity, coupled with even a modicum of precognition, was economic security. Foresight wasn't his strongest talent, but occasionally it did serve him well. Time and the doctor's abilities had built his town and furnished his hospital. It kept the residents comfortable and allowed him to refurbish and update facilities at will.

_I'm a very lucky man. But a tired one. _He looked up as the sound of rotors drifted through the air. The helicopter he'd chartered to take him to La Guardia Airport where he would meet Aaron and his team was approaching.

_I need a change._ As much as he regretted what was happening to the little girl, Aaron, and the others, he felt the age-old current of purpose he'd learned to detect and respect. It ran through all things. It was running now.

He just hoped this time it didn't drown those caught within its stream.

He didn't think it would, but he couldn't be absolutely sure. He was much better at predicting people than events.

xxxxxxxxx

The first thing Reid did was glance at his watch.

The second thing Reid did was throw himself at the screen when Penelope appeared.

"Garcia! I need you to tie in with the traffic cams in New York." His words were rapid. The tech analyst had been so filled with her own message for Rossi, it took a few beats for her to catch up to Reid's urgency.

"Wha…what?"

"Garcia! The traffic cams." Reid took a breath, realizing an explanation was needed. "I _saw_ Bescardi just now. I _saw_ her! She…she was wearing a…a light blue shirt and…uh…jeans…faded jeans. Her hair's kind of messy, but still brown with a little gray."

J.J. and Prentiss drew closer. Morgan looked up from his place beside Hotch. Only Rossi's attention didn't waver. He remained fixed on Hotch.

He'd chosen to be a father rather than a friend, too. He knew Reid would understand.

"Pretty Boy. Calm down." Morgan waded in although he, too, kept an arm around Hotch. "What're you trying to do?"

"I saw what she was wearing! If we can look back around the time Ana was…Melinda was…" His voice cracked.

"C'mon, Spence." J.J.'s comforting hand on his shoulder steadied him. "Keep it together."

"Maybe the traffic cams can track where she took Mellie. We know she discarded her lab coat before she left the building where Melinda's doctor appointment was. Go back, Garcia. Go back and look for anyone in light blue, carrying…" Another crack; almost a sob. "…carrying a baby. See if you can track where she went…where she took Melinda."

Garcia winked out after assuring Reid that she'd track the monster to and through the Gates of Hell, if needed, if Hell had traffic cams anywhere near it.

Having picked up her fair share of tickets for minor infractions, Penelope was pretty sure Hell _did_ have cameras at every corner.


	64. Puzzle Pieces

The enforced idleness of the next hour was almost unbearable for the team.

Reid tried calling Ana, but it only served to increase his frustration at being too distant to reach her mentally. Apparently she'd rallied enough to try and make a break for freedom. But the effects of her concussion and the lingering sedation made her stumbling progress easy to spot and easy to stop. All Ana's ill-fated attempt to search for her daughter had done was earn her a burly-looking orderly delegated to keep watch over her.

However, they did allow her the phone call when Reid explained it would do far more to calm her than any medication.

"Spencer! She's gone! Someone took her!" Ana's first contact with her husband, coupled with her inability to share his thoughts, brought all her panic and grief to the fore. It almost made the orderly standing by take the phone from her. But Reid's words threw her a lifeline, letting her hold herself in check, reassuring her gentle-natured, but firm guard that she could handle the emotional stress.

"She's okay. I saw her…you know? _Saw_ her." He didn't need to be within telepathic touching distance; Reid could feel Ana's fear…could share it. "I'm on my way. The whole team is. We'll get her back. I promise." He tried to keep his voice steady for her sake. "How are you? How are you feeling?"

Ana didn't care about her own health. She ignored his questions. "Where did you see her? Can you tell who did this? Spencer, _can_ you?"

A heartbeat of silence followed, during which a thousand horror-filled possibilities sped through the young mother's mind.

"Oh, Ana. It's Carol Bescardi. Bescardi took her."

A thousand horror-filled possibilities were replaced by one truly dreadful reality.

xxxxxxxxx

Hotch was no longer bent over like a man trying to prevent himself from fainting. He'd straightened, swayed in his seat, and then leaned back, resting his head against the cabin wall, eyes closed. Clearly, he was suffering. But no one knew from what, or how to help. And Hotch wasn't doing anything to communicate.

Morgan pulled back, giving his leader room to breathe. Rossi, however, stayed close, slipping an arm behind Hotch's shoulders and resting his other hand on his friend's midriff where it could deliver occasional, comforting pats and rubs. He had one ear trained on Reid's phone call and the other subdued conversations taking place, but his focus was on Hotch.

_I __**told**__ you not to go wandering off and getting lost ever again, Aaron. I __**told **__ you._

Rossi felt a father's conflict; anger at one's child for endangering himself, tempered by relief that the child had returned, tempered yet again by an abiding worry that the child had sustained an injury whose severity was, as yet, unknown.

Morgan read the concern in Rossi's eyes, and when the older agent pulled Hotch closer, encouraging him to rest his head against Rossi's shoulder, Morgan didn't see anything paranormal or eerie about it.

All he saw was a father trying to give comfort and strength to his son.

xxxxxxxxx

Bescardi returned the baby's glare as she picked up her purse and ran an indifferent hand through her hair. She ran over the list of items she needed to buy.

Some formula and disposable diapers. She grimaced with disgust at the thought of having to perform the tasks of feeding and changing, but decided to look upon them as analogous to the care and cleaning of any laboratory animal. She also needed some isopropyl alcohol for sterilizing her test subject's skin prior to taking a blood sample…the first of many, she anticipated.

Alcohol reminded her that she hadn't tasted any of the potable variety since her incarceration. Bescardi smiled at the thought of picking up a nice bottle of Burgundy. She would toast her success in style. And last, but not least on her list: a winter coat. She hadn't realized how warm the lab coat her employer had provided had been until she'd shed it after attacking that unfortunate empath.

Bescardi sniffed. _It was an unfashionable travesty; a mockery of what I used to wear._

Her smile widened as she considered all the things she'd missed for so long being available to her again. She glanced at the child who was still subjecting her to its disconcerting stare.

_It should be fine on its own for a little while._ She toed the edge of the playpen, testing its solidity. _After all, it can't go anywhere. And I deserve a little reward for all I've accomplished already._

The ex-doctor closed the apartment door, locking it with care. And thinking of herself in a nice, new coat with a glass of nice, red wine, she went in search of both.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Garcia's incoming call as she flared to life on the laptop, broke the silence that had eventually drifted over the team.

"Reid?"

The young agent pounced. "Did you get anything? Did you find her?"

"Uh, well….kind of…but…"

"_GARCIA!_" Reid's roar was a fair imitation of Hotch's whenever the tech analyst's virtual presence needed a nudge.

"Okay!...Okay…" Penelope pushed bright turquoise glasses studded with rhinestones higher up the bridge of her nose. "Okay. There _is_ someone who looks to be in all light blue and carrying something in her arms. It's hard to tell, because she's got a lot of purses…really big ones…"

"That's her!" Reid interrupted, unable to contain himself. "Ana had diaper bags and her purse and…that's her! Where'd she go?!"

"Oh…Reid…honey…that's where it kind of goes off track." The tremble in Garcia's voice and the welling in her large, sympathetic eyes made the young father's heart sink even before she told him. "I can see her going down the street, but then she turns a corner into kind of an alley and…and…that's where I lose her."

"Did you check the cameras on the opposite block to see if she reappears?"

"Of course…"

"_All _ of them?"

" 'All'?!…" Garcia's sniff of exasperation reminded her teammates that she was brilliant at her job and thorough to a fault. "Of _course_ I checked all of them, Reid. There are _lots_ of people. _Crowds_ of people. So it's possible she literally disappeared into the crowd, but I _did_ check everything; every camera concentrically outward from where she first appeared. _And_..." She forestalled the next condition she knew Reid would suggest. "…_And_…I checked for a distance of twelve blocks."

Garcia sat back and sighed. "That's why it took so long." The big eyes melted again. "I'm sorry Reid. I'm really, really sorry."

But Reid wasn't listening to any meaningless pleasantries in the guise of an apology. "Wait a minute! She _might_ have got lost in the crowd, but the other possibility is that she never came out of that alley. Alleys in New York have all kinds of entrances and exits to the buildings they border. Garcia, I need you to check again, but a couple hours later." The tech analyst perked up, leaning toward her screen, anxious to grasp even the slimmest of leads.

Reid reminded himself to breathe and focus. "When I was…_there_…where Melinda is, I got the feeling Bescardi was getting ready to go out. It was…" He glanced at his watch, reminding himself of the time check he'd made first thing after vacating Hotch. "It was a couple minutes past four, your time, New York time. See if you can find anyone in light blue in the area around that time. Most people would be wearing coats this time of year, but I don't think she had one. At least, I didn't see one. If you see her, that means she _did_ go to ground somewhere close by. That might mean Melinda's somewhere not far away." His eyes sparked with hope.

"On it!" Eager to erase the taste of failure in her first search, Garcia winked out.

xxxxxxxx

The old doctor thanked his pilot and disembarked on the tarmac at La Guardia Airport. He walked to the terminal reserved for the use of passengers on non-commercial flights and breathed in the soot-laden, city air, pondering his experiences so far, since leaving his sanctuary.

The world had become such an extreme place. There was so much more of everything. And it all seemed so much more extravagant. There was a great deal more grime; less green and more noise; with scents and sounds and psyches he'd managed to avoid for such a long time.

And yet, in the ways that counted, it had hardly changed at all. People were still endlessly complex, fascinating puzzles. From what he'd gathered by talking to the chatty, colorful lady who worked for the FBI in some technical capacity, and Aaron's father, some of the puzzle pieces were getting muddled.

Poor Aaron had done it again…gone and risked himself and now needed to be sorted out once more. But also of concern was the woman who had taken the telepath's daughter. He had the foreboding feeling that _that_ one was way beyond being sorted. But, first things first.

The doctor sat down to wait for the arrival of the jet carrying Aaron and his team.

He would use the time to let his abilities wander and become more acclimated to this noisy, dirty, demanding, intriguing world. He sighed happily.

_I've missed this kind of energy…disturbing…but __**exhilarating**__._


	65. The Hunt Begins

When the jet landed in La Guardia on the runway reserved for government and other private aircraft, the only one to exit was Morgan.

As they were taxiing to a stop, Garcia had popped into view once again. If Reid's distress hadn't been so apparent, it might have been comical the way he momentarily bobbled between flying out the door and gluing himself to the screen. Rossi's calm voice overrode the young agent's temporarily confused and conflicting motor responses.

"Reid! Talk to Garcia. Get all the ammo you can before you hit the streets." He was still holding Hotch and may have been keeping his voice steady for the Unit Chief's benefit. The man seemed to wince at loud noises. The way he kept his eyes closed made Rossi think bright light might be painful, too. "Morgan! Go see if that doctor is waiting for us. From what he said about travel time, he should have arrived a while ago. Find him. Bring him here."

J.J. and Prentiss gathered around the laptop with Reid, eager to be set on a trail, _any_ trail, that might lead to little Melinda.

With a last glance at his teammates, wishing he could fix everything that was wrong, Morgan pelted out the door and was running across the tarmac within seconds.

xxxxxxxx

"Talk to me, Garcia." Tension made Reid's voice strained and low, as though he were speaking through gritted teeth; teeth that would rather be fastened in Carol Bescardi's throat.

"Oh, Reid…mixed results. I'm sorry." The large eyes whose expressiveness couldn't be concealed behind lavish frames, conveyed regret and sympathy. "I…I found her…But I lost her again."

Reid thought his heart would stop. It just couldn't take any more bad news. Prentiss gave her co-worker one quick glance, understood he was reaching his limit…and stepped forward. _He'll be fine, but he needs a little support. He needs a chance to catch his emotional breath, so to speak._

"Tell us, Garcia. From the top. Where did you find her?"

The tech analyst was glad to focus on Prentiss. Looking at the grief so plainly written across Reid's face made it hard for her to relay what she saw as another failure to find adequate information, the _right_ information, to bring Reid's daughter home.

"I found someone in light blue…head to toe…walking down the street about a block away from where I lost her last time…opposite from where she disappeared into that alley. She went a few blocks, but it was really hard to keep track of her…it was rush hour and absolutely _everyone_ was getting off work and the crowds were just _awful_ and _swelling_ and…"

"Garcia!" This time the call to keep their colorful colleague on track was uttered in tandem by both Reid and Prentiss.

"And…well, it looked like she might have gone into one of those little, boutique-y stores that there are a million of. I couldn't see the name. The thing is…" Penelope sounded small and timid, reluctant to dash anyone's hopes. "…I think she must have changed clothes. I didn't see anyone come out in light blue…and the cameras are too far away for facial recognition…Oh, Reid! I'm so sorry!"

But Reid's head was bowed, his elegantly engineered brain working at a furious pace. When he looked up, a predatory smile was slowly spreading across his features.

"No, Garcia…that's _good. Great_, in fact!" He leaned even closer to the screen. "She wasn't carrying anything when you picked her up this time, was she?"

"Uh, no. Nothing, but maybe a small purse. Really small."

The smile widened. Teeth showed. "Don't you see? She didn't have Melinda with her! Which means she's found a place to hide somewhere between where you thought you lost her the first time…and where you picked her up this second time. Chances are Mellie's somewhere in that city-block of buildings that surround the alley." Reid felt tears of relief building behind his eyelids. "Thanks, Garcia. Thank you. Thank you."

The young father's reprieve from worry was short-lived, however.

Unless Bescardi had picked up a partner along the way…and her profile as a deviant narcissist made it highly unlikely; after all, no one would be good enough to work with the legend-in-her-own-mind Bescardi…Melinda was alone, abandoned as no baby should be.

_Oh, God. She's treating my daughter like an animal. No, no, no, no…_

xxxxxxxxxx

Morgan sprinted through the nearest entry to the terminal reserved for non-commercial travelers and came to a dead stop.

It had been quite some time since he'd seen that strange, old doctor and he realized he probably wouldn't recognize him unless he was doing something weird and paranormal-esque. And he had no idea what something like that would look like. Morgan scanned the scattering of people, most of them in uniform, deciding that he'd look for anyone who stood out by virtue of age. He needn't have worried.

The doctor found him.

xxxxxxxxx

The elderly man sitting by himself so peacefully, with a slight smile and closed eyes, didn't attract much attention. He was letting his senses drift on the currents of thought and feeling wafting through the terminal.

_Airports are very emotional places, _he mused, _**Stridently**__ emotional._

But when the BAU jet landed, the telepath's agony of concern cut through everything like a blade honed to exquisite sharpness. The old doctor frowned and tasted the individual emanations of the team.

_He's too young. And too new at fatherhood. He needs to calm himself or he loses much of his ability to come through this._ _He could learn from Aaron's father._ The doctor felt Rossi keeping tight control. Despite desperate worry about Hotch, he was still in command, giving orders, directing others. The old man sighed. _The telepath needs to grow up, but he's not going to do it in the next ten minutes. He needs his child. And Aaron needs help, too._

He opened his eyes when he felt the pool of emotions in the jet lessen slightly. One of the team had peeled away and was on his own, getting closer. When the doctor saw the man burst through the doors and pause, breathing heavily, he recognized him. It was Aaron's friend; the one who had carried him in from his ordeal in the wilderness the first time they'd met.

_A good man. I'm glad he looks out for our Aaron._

Standing and picking up the travel bag he'd brought with him, the doctor approached.

The look of combined relief and urgency in the FBI agent's eyes made the old man adopt his most serene tone of voice. _These people are feeding off of the telepath's pain. He's affecting them without knowing._

"It's all right, son. Take me to them. I'll do all I can to help."

xxxxxxxxx

When Morgan led the doctor on board, everyone except Reid and Hotch looked up to acknowledge his presence.

J.J. had never seen him before. He smiled at the large, blue eyes that looked deceptively innocent, but he sensed masked a sharp, politically adept mind. Prentiss nodded a reserved greeting. She remembered being turned away from nosing through the doctor's sanctuary, but she didn't blame him for wanting privacy. It was necessary to his town's survival. Rossi's lips twitched; a sad facsimile of a smile, his eyes plainly asking if the doctor could help them again. One more time. Please.

Reid was nose-to-screen, deep in discussion with Garcia.

The doctor went immediately to Hotch. Without disturbing Rossi's hold, he sat on the opposite side of the Unit Chief and unbuttoned his shirt with swift, deft fingers. Once he had access to Hotch's chest, he laid a hand over his heart. A look of concentration, like a curtain being lowered, came over his face.

Rossi remembered seeing this before. It was how the doctor checked for physical injury or illness. He wanted to cry out that Hotch hadn't been hurt _that_ way…that it was his mind that was suffering…but he kept quiet and still, trusting the venerable, old man steeped in ancient wisdom, to know best. He should have known he couldn't hide his thoughts. That was something he always seemed to forget about his present company.

"I have to check everything. Physical damage in the brain is always a possibility in Aaron's case."

Rossi felt his stomach drop. He swallowed a hard lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. _Please, no. Not Aaron._

Reid's voice rose, a faint edge of anger and hysteria making it sharp.

"Thousands?! _Thousands_, Garcia?!"

"In that particular subset of the city, yes." The techie was caught between delivering the facts and wishing she could make them more palatable to a man who felt he was losing his daughter more with each passing moment. "The alley she went down is adjacent to four converted and extended brownstones. And there are entries between some of the buildings and others on the same block. So…yes…I'm sorry…I'm so sorry…but she could be in any one of…thousands…of apartments."

The old doctor moved his hand from Hotch's chest to his forehead. He was concentrating on his patient, but still keeping track of Reid's situation. The lines of pain furrowing Aaron's brow…eased.

"Well…can…can you find out who might have rented an apartment in the last…I don't know…since Bescardi started working at that lab?"

Regret colored every word of the response. "Oh, Reid. They don't keep that kind of record in those kinds of places. Most of them are cash-only and on a daily basis. They don't do leases."

Reid bent his head, overwhelmed. _My Mellie. My Mellie-bear. Noooooo…_

"Telepath." The word was said with such calm in the tense atmosphere, its very contrast commanded as much attention as a shout.

Reid's neck snapped around, fixing the old doctor with an agonized stare. _Help me! __**PLEASE**__! You've got to help me!_

_Out loud for the non-ESP-ers, please._

_You're reprimanding my __**manners**__ at a time like this?!_

"You don't need my help to find her, telepath."

Reid's confusion was palpable. "Wha…? What?!"

The doctor kept his eyes and his hands on Hotch, his voice low and calm. "You are too emotional. Recall. What did you see when you looked at my little hospital?"

The revelation, when Reid grasped what the doctor was telling him, made him go completely blank for a few heartbeats. When he looked up, the doctor gave him a small smile.

"I saw auras. The…the residue of psychic energy from people who had been, and who were then, in the building!" His intake of breath was halfway between a gasp and a sob. "I'll be able to _see_ her! Or at least, _traces_ of her…" Reid remembered the lilac-gold that was his baby's energy; as dear to him as Ana's golden mist. And as recognizable.

The doctor nodded encouragement. "Go, telepath."

Reid went.


	66. Injured Minds

Morgan and Prentiss went with Reid.

J.J., however, elected to remain behind.

She reasoned there was nothing the other three couldn't handle on their own, and she didn't feel right about deserting Hotch and Rossi. Plus, it was her first encounter with this mysterious doctor who she gathered was at the heart of the strangeness that so unsettled Morgan.

She kept out of the way, close to the table supporting the laptop. Garcia hissed at her to be turned so the webcam was trained on the trio of men, affording her a view of the one she'd privately dubbed The Supernatural Sensei.

The doctor had a small, tolerant smile. He could sense the young woman's curiosity coupled with a wariness that stemmed from her desire to protect her teammates. It was a theme he encountered in all of them. It was one of the factors that wove this disparate group together. But there was also more of a respectful air about this woman. The dark-haired one was a hunter. Her main objective in visiting his town had been to nose out secrets and satisfy her curiosity by active means like snooping and questioning. _This_ woman, however, chose a more cautious, quiet approach. The doctor appreciated both methods, but, he had to admit, he preferred the sedate calm of the agent who was currently observing him. The other was…

…_a handful. Probably caused her parents no end of worry and grief as a child._

He turned his mind back to Aaron, fully focusing on the task, the child, at hand.

"Will he be okay?" Rossi had to ask. He could never tell by the expressions that passed across the wrinkled features whether the doctor was amused, bemused, or confused. "Is he going to be alright?"

The doctor increased the light pressure of his hand on Hotch's brow. He used the fingers of the other to trace the taut muscles of his patient's neck, coming to rest at the base of the throat. When he finally spoke, it wasn't the decisive response for which Rossi had hoped.

"I'll do my best." The doctor glanced up into the concerned father's eyes. "But this sort of thing really must stop. He can't keep letting his psyche be a playground for others."

Rossi felt the first stirrings of resentment, of a need to defend Hotch's actions. "He did it to save a child. I'm sure it wasn't something he undertook lightly."

"I'm not saying he didn't do the _right_ thing." Shrewd eyes peered up at Rossi over the tops of half-moon glasses. "But you should know the full story. He did it, in part, because of you."

"Me!?" Rossi glanced to where J.J. and Garcia's digital image were mutely tracking the conversation.

J.J. blinked, realizing some line was about to be crossed, pushing the discussion from 'suitable for public consumption' to 'no outsiders allowed, please.' She nodded. Excusing herself, she picked up the laptop and moved to the far end of the cabin, much to Garcia's harshly whispered displeasure.

With their audience out of earshot, Rossi still kept his voice low. "This is the _last_ thing I wanted Aaron to do! And believe me, I'll do everything in my power to make sure it doesn't happen again."

The doctor closed his eyes, concentrating on the slight movement of his hands in contact with his patient. "He put himself at risk, because he couldn't bear to see the telepath's pain. His last thought, before giving himself over, was that he would do anything to spare the telepath the experience _you_ went through…of losing a baby, a newborn."

The hands seemed to find what they'd been seeking. They stilled, pressing more firmly. "And a good first step toward keeping your son safe from this sort of thing would be to put that charm my colleague went to the trouble of fashioning back on him."

Rossi's brows lifted for a moment. He'd forgotten the bracelet. It rested in a totally unremarkable, little heap on the seat beside him. Without another word, throat tight with pride for Aaron's selfless bravery, he slipped it around his wrist.

_That's **my** boy._

xxxxxxxx

Bescardi returned from her shopping trip feeling much more like her pre-prison self.

The coat she'd purchased had made her aware of inflation since the last time she'd gone clothes shopping. But, in her celebratory mood, she reasoned she deserved to splurge a little. The wine was also a luxury; the price of a decent bottle of Burgundy had also risen. The same held true for a corkscrew and a suitable wine glass. It left little for the other purchases on her list. But, she congratulated herself on overcoming the small, financial quandary that might have stymied a less formidable intellect than her own.

The isopropyl alcohol and baby formula were nonnegotiable. But when she saw the price of disposable diapers and considered her distaste for dealing with the messy necessity of changing a baby, her agile brain came up with an alternative.

_Newspapers! For a dollar I can empty one of those coin-operated racks. Shredded in the bottom of the playpen, they would be much easier to change than a diaper._ She smiled. _No more trouble than cleaning out a rat's cage. Problem solved._

When she came through the door to her new laboratory-apartment, she was clad in a chic, dark gray, cashmere blend coat, arms filled with a stack of the New York Times, as well as bags from a drug store and a specialty wine shop.

She dropped her purchases on the bare counter of the kitchenette. The baby was making mewling noises.

_Probably hungry. How often do those things need to eat anyway?_

To get herself in the mood for playing caterer to her test subject, Bescardi uncorked her wine. The first heady whiff of its aroma as she let the bottle breathe, gave her a high she had almost forgotten. It had been years, after all. She cast a sidelong glance at the playpen. The baby was still subjecting her to its disconcerting stare. She decided she'd need some of the wine before she began the task of tearing up the impressive stack of newspapers she'd managed to procure.

_And I really __**must**__ get some furniture for my own comfort soon…tomorrow._

Bescardi poured herself a large glass of her favorite beverage and sat on the floor, sipping and returning her test subject's impudent glare. As the smooth, velvety liquor flowed over her tongue, she recalled her early acquaintance with David Rossi. At one point she'd thought he fancied her. It was out of the question, really. Even back then, she'd known she was destined for something unimaginably more magnificent than being tied to that glorified security guard. But at one point he'd taken her to dinner to thank her for her expertise in paranormal research. When the deep, ruby wine had been served, he'd smiled. She'd asked why, and he'd said it was the same color as her lips.

Now Bescardi smiled in remembrance.

_That was before I realized what a short-sighted, ignorant lackey David is._

Which brought to mind the other even shorter-sighted, more ignorant lackey he'd sent to play watchdog over Dr. Reid and the empathic girl. Her smile vanished as she saw again the dark, piercing, wolfish eyes of the man.

She shook her head.

_What a fool! He was no match for me._

Not for the first time, she scolded herself for being soft-hearted.

_I should have poisoned him and thrown him away into the woods where he could have been devoured by a pack of his own kind._ Bescardi threw back her head and laughed. The wine was strong for someone who'd forgone alcohol for so long.

xxxxxxxx

Melinda was hungry. Hungrier than she'd ever been. And cold. And lonely. And heartsick without knowing that was the name for what she felt. And scared.

Partly Him had said he'd come for her, and she didn't doubt the fierce savagery of his promise. She waited. Partly Her was still faint and too disrupted to be of comfort.

Melinda looked at Not Us as she brought the glass with the red liquid in it to her lips time and again. Not Us was thinking terrible, unbearable things about Beautiful Him.

Perhaps Melinda could be forgiven what she did. Perhaps it was just the effect of her fear and her hunger and her loneliness. Or maybe it was because she didn't want Beautiful Him to be where Not Us could think such horrible, false things about him. She was hurting Beautiful Him in her thoughts.

So Melinda…_removed_...Beautiful Him. And when she saw false images of Partly Him and Partly Her in the mind of Not Us…she removed them, too.

The way Not Us saw them was wrong…broken.

Melinda fixed it.

xxxxxxx

Carol Bescardi's eyes were vacant. She sat in a pool of the wine she'd spilled, staring at the baby in the playpen, unable to recall why it was there.

Unable to recall much of anything, really.

She blew tiny bubbles of saliva from her slack lips and let what was left of her mind…

…wander…

xxxxxxx

Rossi saw the old doctor pause in his work on Hotch. He lifted his head as though listening. His eyes met Rossi's.

"I think the telepath will have no trouble finding his daughter now."

Declining to give any further explanation, he resumed his gentle inspection of Aaron.


	67. Psychic Fire

Reid was feeling torn again.

The cab he, Prentiss, and Morgan had grabbed in the airport's loading zone was passing by Bellevue Medical Center in midtown. Ana was there. He could feel her. He sent a thought out and found her still in panic mode. Her mind jumped when she felt his touch.

_Spencer! Did you find her?! Is she okay!? Spencer!?_

For a split second, Reid had to block himself from his wife as the thought flashed through his mind…_If I don't find Melinda, how can I ever face her mother again?_... He recovered enough to override his own fear in favor of quelling Ana's.

_I'm on my way to her now! I'll find her…I'll find her…I __**promise**__…_

Even with rush hour long gone, the traffic in Manhattan crawled at a sluggish pace. They were headed toward the city block that contained the office of Melinda's pediatrician. Reid held firm to the belief, bolstered by Garcia's findings, that his daughter was somewhere in one of the thousands of apartments surrounding that particular address.

Morgan and Prentiss huddled a little closer together, giving their colleague some breathing room. Whenever his eyes closed and a look of fierce concentration creased his brow, they wondered what he was seeking, or with whom he was communicating. That strange, old doctor? Ana? Melinda? The two agents exchanged worried glances, but didn't do anything to interrupt whatever Reid was doing…or tracking…or thinking…

When the cab was two blocks away from their destination and halted at a stoplight, Reid threw open the door. Rocketing out of his seat, he sprinted around grid-locked traffic, clambering over hoods and trunks as necessary, much to the loud, vocal displeasure of drivers.

"Hey!" The cabbie roused himself. These passengers had been extremely quiet. He hadn't expected them to make a break for it, possibly bilking him out of his sixty-five dollar fare.

"Go!" Prentiss gave Morgan a shove. "I'll settle up here." With one eye keeping track of the path Morgan and Reid were running, she flipped open her wallet. She spared a quick glance for the meter clocking their mileage. Extracting a sheaf of bills, she exited the rear of the cab, tossing the money through the front window into the driver's lap. Before he could thank her for what turned out to be a very generous tip, Prentiss was gone, wending her way through the maze of vehicles, in pursuit of her teammates.

She caught up to them on the sidewalk.

Reid had come to an abrupt stop. Breathing heavily, he scanned the skies, turning in small circles and earning himself a few annoyed glances and exclamations as he disrupted the flow of foot traffic.

Morgan looked up, too, before realizing this was one of those 'creepy things' he wouldn't be able to help with. All he could do was stay close and lend support of the non-ESP-er variety, if required. He found the situation frustrating in light of how much he wanted to help, to fix, to make things right for Reid.

"What are you looking for?" Prentiss spun around, frantically trying to see if anything out of the ordinary would grab her attention. "Reid! What?"

A fine edge of panic was beginning to insinuate itself into the young agent. "It's…I'm…_there's nothing here!_" His voice cracked with despair.

As leery pedestrians began to give the three a wider berth, Morgan grabbed Reid's shoulders, shaking him just enough to pull his focus. "Reid! I don't know about this kind of weird stuff. But I _do_ know if we were in the field and you were acting like this…this scattered…I'd pull you and send you back to base. Calm down, Reid!"

Morgan saw a measure of control return to the amber-cognac eyes. The shoulders in his grip trembled a bit less. Respiration was still ragged, but no longer verging on hyperventilation. Taking a deep, shaky breath, Reid nodded.

"Okay. Okay. I'm okay."

It had a disconcerting resemblance to Hotch's mantra. And was about as convincing. Still, Morgan released him, keeping eye contact for a few more beats. "Good. Now, whatever you're looking for, just because you don't see it here, doesn't mean…"

Reid's sudden move took both Morgan and Prentiss completely off guard.

He twisted around as though yanked by an invisible hand, his back slamming with force against the brick wall of the building fronting the patch of sidewalk where the three agents were still drawing suspicious looks from passersby.

Eyes fixed skyward, mesmerized by something neither of his co-workers could see, Reid watched a corona of hot lavender, shot with sprays of gold, flare above the building across the street. The release of that much psychic energy was almost spellbinding. As the paranormal pyrotechnics wavered and writhed, his father's heart squeezed with anguish.

_Oh, my God, Mellie…what's happening to you?! What is she __**doing**__ to you?!_

xxxxxxxxxx

"J.J.! Pssst! Down here!"

Garcia was getting impatient with the webcam trained on nothing more interesting than the cabin wall. "Girlfriend! What's going on? What are they doing?"

J.J. cast a surreptitious glance, disguised by the act of stretching, toward the two men still hemming Hotch in. Her reply, when it came, bordered on a whisper.

"Nothing." She resumed her original position, back diplomatically turned. "Hotch is still out of it. Rossi and the old guy are talking. That's all."

"He's gonna be alright, isn't he? J.J.?" From all the furtive hints and raised eyebrows she'd picked up from Morgan and Prentiss, who had visited that odd, little town, the tech analyst had expected Hotch to be cured instantly. The fact that he was still down didn't bode well.

J.J.'s voice was soothing, but her words weren't. "I don't know, Garcia. He looks like he's in less pain, but…I just don't know."

xxxxxxxxx

"Is there anything I can do?"

Rossi was still holding Hotch. Almost unconsciously, his hand on the Unit Chief's ribs was moving in ceaseless, little arcs, as though the older agent was trying to reassure himself of the flesh-and-bone presence of his friend. "Is there anything you need that I can get you? Anything?"

The doctor's ever-calm regard lifted from his patient to the man who wanted so desperately to help.

"This will take some time. I could use a quiet place to work on him. I don't imagine this…" his glance took in the utilitarian furnishings of the cabin, "…is the most comfortable place for you to spend the night."

Before he had finished speaking, Rossi was on his phone, booking a suite of rooms in the nearest five-star hotel and arranging for a car service to pick them up. When accommodations had been secured, he resumed watching the doctor. Aside from occasionally closing his eyes, or bending his head, seeming to listen to some psychic or biologic rhythm only he could perceive, there was nothing to indicate progress, nor the lack thereof.

Rossi kept still until he saw the old man take a deep breath and lean back slightly, the better to look at Hotch.

"Doctor…please…talk to me. Tell me something."

Swayed by the wary sorrow lurking in the depths of the agent's eyes, the doctor nodded. The hand on Hotch's forehead continued to make small, stroking motions as he tried to find words to explain to the father what had happened to his son.

"They were simply too powerful." Seeing the confusion in Rossi's expression, the doctor elaborated. "The telepath and his child. They're too powerful for Aaron to endure for any length of time." The hand on Hotch's brow kept up its soothing movement. "You recall the first time we met? The telepath's eidetic memory was too powerful for this man's normal mind to handle. He started to break down from the strain of trying to do so. This is much the same, but on an even more psychic than synaptic level."

The old man peered at Rossi over the tops of his crescent lenses. "Think of the psyche as a sort of phantom body. Just as the body has nerve endings which can be damaged, resulting in pain, or loss of function; so the psyche has 'nerve endings.' Equally sensitive and equally susceptible to damage.

"In effect, your son's psychic nerve endings have been singed…burned by the force of those who used him as a meeting ground. Everything he feels, everything he senses right now is too much for him…like sandpaper rubbing against a raw wound. He's hurting. His psyche is hurting." He turned his thoughtful regard back to Hotch.

When it became apparent no more would be said, Rossi swallowed. "But you _will_ be able to help him, won't you?"

The doctor's touch on Hotch's forehead was tender, seeming almost like a benediction. His voice lowered, as though he were talking more to himself than anyone else.

"I will do my best. I will always do my best for Aaron."


	68. Psychic Burn Victim Number 1

Before Prentiss or Morgan could ask what he was staring at, Reid was off and running again.

"Dammit! Reid!" Morgan understood the need for speed, but he would have felt a lot better if his young colleague had stopped to take a breath, and explain what he was doing. Morgan would have appreciated some information that could have enabled strategizing. Running through the streets of Manhattan with no mutually-agreed-upon destination wasn't his idea of a well thought out plan; or one that was likely to end in success. He truly did believe, as he'd told Rossi, that the ability to protect relied heavily upon the ability to predict. Lately, his team seemed to be hell-bent on behaving _un_predictably.

But he'd sworn to himself that he'd have their backs no matter what. He did his best to dodge through the traffic that didn't seem to slow Reid down at all.

Prentiss had some misgivings as well, but she thrived on adrenaline and action. She was hot on Reid's heels, hand resting on the gun at her waist partly out of habit, partly to keep it steady, and partly in case the opportunity to get the drop on Bescardi presented itself. She rather hoped for scenario number three.

Reid didn't hear anything the others were shouting at him. With more rage and focus than he'd ever thought himself capable of, he raced across the street and down the block. Going full speed with his neck craned upward, he scanned windows dotting the monolithic brick sides of the adjacent buildings. The aura of livid lavender pricked with gold still hovered, but like an atomic bomb's mushroom cloud, it was flattening and spreading.

Reid was too new at this. He'd never tracked anyone by following psychic energy through a city. He was terrified of failing. He was also terrified of what he might find at the end of the trail…_if_ he could even _find_ the end of the trail. He was used to identifying his daughter by a much gentler pastel aura. The sprays of gold were usually like a hint of glittery mist dispersed by wind. What he saw now looked more like points of molten metal edged with flame.

_Oh, God! What is Bescardi __**doing**__ to her!?_

Reid pounded down the sidewalk, occasionally bumping into people who would either shout their indignation, or curse him and his ancestral line. Still, he kept his eyes focused upward. Turning the corner, he slammed into a street vendor's pretzel cart. Reid's slight weight wasn't enough to overturn the contraption. His headlong rush garnered him a bruised hip and another colorful string of invectives to add to those he'd already earned by virtue of this blind dash to find Melinda.

But Reid didn't feel the impact. He was too distracted by what he saw pouring through and around a section of wall three floors up halfway down the block.

A column of pale purple wafted outward. It was a calmer color than the explosive cloud still billowing above the building. A frisson of terror robbed Reid of what breath was left him. He didn't know the portent of the change in hue, in vibrancy. Psychically, he supposed it could mean the end of an action and the outpouring of energy accompanying it…or the end of a life and the release of the energy animating it. He was sure the color change was significant, but he just didn't know in what way.

Morgan and Prentiss caught up to him as he found the unobtrusive door leading to the building's interior. Slightly recessed in the brick façade, the panel of buttons linked to individual units surrounding a rusted speaker was the only indication that this was the entry to an apartment complex. Reid was yanking at the door handle, almost growling, pitting his strength against a slab of reinforced steel with a very secure deadbolt…the standard for private entrances in midtown.

"Reid." Morgan took in the younger agent's frantic battle. Clearly, the door was winning. "Reid! Just use the panel!"

"Huh?" His mind was on Melinda, not the practical business of how to gain entry when confronted by an intercom system. Reid wanted to reach out and see if he could touch his daughter's psyche, but he worried his emotional state would only alarm her, and possibly harm her. Keeping himself in check when she was so close multiplied his frustration exponentially.

"Let me." Morgan had no trouble moving his slender teammate out of the recessed doorway. Once he could access the panel of buttons linking every unit within the building to the intercom, he simply ran his finger down each row, setting off the raucous buzz in each apartment that meant someone was asking to be allowed in. Almost immediately there was an answering whirring sound, telling them that one of the multitude of residents was probably expecting a visitor and had tripped the lock.

Morgan grabbed the door handle and pulled it open, ignoring the other responses to his gambit; the annoyed, wary, or curious voices asking for whoever was buzzing to identify themselves.

"It's an old trick. Shouldn't work, but it usually does in buildings with this many units." Morgan smiled as he ushered Reid and Prentiss through the door. "Odds are _someone's_ waiting on a friend, or relative, or a delivery or…well, you get the picture."

Prentiss nodded in appreciation of Morgan's street-smarts. Reid was already slamming through another heavy door into the stairwell.

"I guess we're going up. C'mon, Derek." Prentiss drew her gun, but kept it pointed groundward.

Reid was too far gone, imagining nightmare visions that chilled his father's heart, to proceed with stealth. He pounded up the staircases in two and three step leaps. At the third floor landing, he plunged through into the hallway with the others only a few feet behind.

Standing in the dim illumination cast by bare bulbs depending from the ceiling, Reid panted.

"She's here… She's here… I know she's here…" The words carried a whimper of terror.

"Reid, can you, ya know…_touch_ her?" Prentiss wasn't clear on any of the finer points of Reid's abilities. She still didn't quite grasp why Hotch had been able to draw Melinda to him when the baby's own parents couldn't. Morgan wasn't any more knowledgeable, but he preferred it that way.

"No! I can't!" Reid was looking from side to side, noting that the hallway turned a corner at each end. "Mellie's too fragile for me to chance hurting her. I can't tou…."

To his right, at the far end of the shabby, dismal hall, Reid saw a tendril of lavender-gold, like fog running along the floor. All his colleagues saw was his eyes widen, and his breath hitch, as he once again sprinted away from them without explanation.

Doors were cracking open, chain locks engaged, once the trio had passed, as suspicious tenants peered after them. Morgan knew that a call to the police about intruders probably wouldn't bring anyone down on them right away. NYPD usually had its hands full with more serious crimes than people running through hallways. Still, he hoped they could avoid all police involvement. Discretion was the operative word in anything involving the Reids. However this ended, it wouldn't do to reveal the little family's paranormal traits. The less contact with any authority that might ask questions, the better.

So when he heard a roar of fury and pounding, battering sounds, Morgan raced around the corner at full speed, Prentiss keeping pace at his side.

Reid was throwing himself against an apartment door. The sounds issuing from his throat were those of an enraged animal. Morgan was about to pull him away, sure that he would damage himself before gaining entrance. But, with a last guttural yell, the frantic father gave a kick that made his friends proud, and would be spoken of long afterwards. The door burst inward, followed by Reid, with Prentiss and Morgan in close pursuit.

The scene that greeted them wasn't anything they could have imagined.

Reid raced to the playpen. Picking his daughter up, he engulfed her. He enveloped her. He surrounded her. He immersed himself in the love of her.

The thought he sent to Ana shouted with a joyous kind of triumph. _I've GOT her! I've GOT her! Ana, I've GOT her!_

While Reid snuggled his child, Prentiss pulled out her phone to call J.J. and let her know their youngest agent was reunited with his Mellie-bear. Morgan took a cautious look around the sad excuse for an apartment, ending with the even sadder excuse for a human being that sat in a pool of wine and what smelled like her own waste. His nose wrinkled in distaste for woman as well as stench.

Bescardi's eyes were fixed on the playpen. Locked on it.

Morgan wasn't sure, but he had the uneasy feeling that Reid's daughter wasn't as fragile as her father thought.


	69. Cleaning Up

"They found her!"

J.J.'s announcement was loud enough for the doctor and Rossi at the opposite end of the cabin to hear. "Reid's got Melinda! They're safe!"

Her expression shifted as she listened to the rest of Prentiss' report. "B-u-u-ut…there's something wrong with Bescardi."

Garcia's snort reminded everyone that she was still digitally present. It also underlined her contempt for the subject at hand.

Rossi echoed her sentiment. "I'd say that's putting it mildly, J.J." He looked down at unconscious Hotch, recalling Carol's complete lack of concern when the man had been injured and lost in the wilderness. It had been years ago, but he could still see her shrug when he'd asked her if she wanted to know agent Hotchner's fate; whether he'd survived the ordeal she'd engineered, or if her weekend 'retreat' now had a body count.

"Right now I'm thinking, if evil wanted a face, it would choose hers." He sighed. At one time he'd thought her quite attractive. The glossy brunette hair, the elegantly overstated features, the faint Italian accent when she'd been enthusiastic or outraged… _It's a shame the contents didn't match the packaging._

"No, Rossi, it's something else." J.J. glanced at the old doctor. "Something…Melinda…might have done. They're not sure."

Aware of her regard, and the trace of fear her words conveyed, the old man looked up, locking his calm gaze on hers. "The telepath's child _is_ responsible. I need to see her, but…" His lids drifted halfway down as he paused, sensing something none of them could detect. "…but take her to the empath first. Then,…" The eyes turned to Rossi. "…then bring her to whatever accommodations you have arranged for us." He looked down at Hotch. "I need the little one to see what she has done to someone she loves."

Rossi drew in a sharp breath. "Are you sure about that? She's just a baby; she can't understand all this…can she?"

The old man went back to smoothing Hotch's brow. "Let's just say I'll have a talk with her…psyche to psyche." He looked up again. "But first, we should move Aaron."

Rossi nodded. For the first time since Hotch had collapsed, he released his hold on him, sliding his arm out from behind his friend's shoulders, and went to check on the car service he'd hired.

J.J. looked up as he passed. "What about Bescardi?"

All the visions of pain and fear that the woman had inflicted on his team, his extended family, played before Rossi's inner eye. "Leave her." The response was brusque, cold.

"Rossi, we can't do that." J.J.'s voice was hushed, but still full of the compassion that came so easily to her and sometimes baffled her co-workers, albeit pleasantly. Sometimes the term 'angelic' applied to more than her looks.

Rossi paused, seeing the soft sympathy in the liaison's eyes and sighed. "Okay. Bring her, then."

_But only because leaving her might implicate one of us. We have to clean this mess from the ground up to keep attention off Reid and his family._

xxxxxxxxx

Prentiss flipped her phone shut and took stock of her teammates.

Morgan had pulled the broken door closed as best he could, giving them some privacy in the event curious tenants should come to investigate the noise accompanying the door's demise. Given the seedy state of the building, Prentiss didn't think they would. This was the kind of place where curiosity would go hungry, if satisfying it meant the risk of getting involved. She turned her attention from the apartment door to its occupants.

Reid was braced, back against a wall, eyes closed, as he held his daughter. His gentle, rocking motion and faint smile made Emily think he was engaged in some sort of silent communication…the kind she'd never be able to share. The kind Morgan would never want to.

After a moment, Reid looked around, found the diaper bag Ana had been carrying when she was attacked, and rummaged through it with one hand. When Prentiss saw him begin setting up everything he'd need to change Melinda on the kitchen counter, keeping the little girl in a secure hold and nuzzling her every few seconds, she couldn't help smiling. Reid as a father was something she'd never thought would happen. He was just so _different_ from everyone else. Now she saw him in a whole new light.

_Melinda, you are one lucky, little girl to have a daddy like that._

She'd thought the same thing about Jack when she'd first seen Hotch cuddling his newborn son.

_Maybe it has something to do with our line of work. Maybe we all realize how easily life can be lost. Maybe it makes us hold it a little more precious than we would otherwise. _She felt a warm smile creeping over her. _Maybe we should put it in our recruitment info: 'Great daddies begin in the BAU.'_

Morgan was standing over Bescardi where she sat on the floor, legs splayed; her only sign of life the occasional blinking of her eyes. Face expressionless, he reached out one foot and toed the woman's ankle.

"Hey. Hey! Can you hear me?" With reluctance born of the loathing he had for her, he crouched down and felt her pulse. It was strong and steady. Frowning, he moved his hand as close to the staring eyes as he could. No reaction. They remained vacant and fixed.

"Rossi says to bring her with us." Prentiss relayed the message J.J. had given her.

"Why?" Morgan stood, giving the woman on the floor a look of disgust. "She doesn't deserve our help. We should just leave her and let someone else find her."

"I think it's to protect _us_." Reid finished a quick, deft diaper change…impressing his friends almost as much as his victory when battling the door had. He lifted Melinda into his arms and began stowing baby supplies back into Ana's bag. "We can't take the chance she'll tell anyone about us..." He turned his head and buried his nose in his daughter's neck. "…about my family. We can't leave her."

Prentiss and Morgan exchanged looks. "Reid, uh, I don't think she's in any shape to spill the beans on anyone." Emily crouched down and looked at Bescardi's empty gaze.

"Right _now_ she isn't." Reid began gathering everything he recognized as belonging to his wife. "But that might not last." He looked at his teammates. "I don't know what Melinda did to her. I don't know if it's permanent. And I really can't take the chance it isn't, guys."

Morgan rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "Okay, Reid. Okay." He sighed. "Let's pack up anything that could link her to you. Prentiss, call a cab. I'll get Miss Congeniality here downstairs and we'll take her back to the jet. Maybe that weird old doc can tell us something about whatever is wrong with her."

"I'm not going with you." Reid's tone left no room for debate. "Mellie and I are headed to Ana. She needs to see our daughter's safe." He smiled as his voice softened. "And Mellie's hungry. They need each other."

Morgan looked a little worried. "Just steer clear of questions, okay? We all need to have the same story, and we all need to come up with something that'll keep the police or anyone else from finding out why Bescardi took her in the first place. Got it?"

Reid nodded, more concerned at the moment with bringing his wife proof positive that their baby was alive and well.

Prentiss was packing medical supplies into the large tote bag Bescardi had used to transport them from the lab. "Once we get everything except the diapers and the formula out of here, we can just say it was a case of a woman past her childbearing years trying to kidnap a baby to raise as her own. Remember, Hotch said that was the most common reason for infant abductions." She grinned at her teammates. "Let's just not overthink this and we'll be fine. Reid? Get out of here. We'll take care of the rest."

"Thanks, I'll catch up with you guys later." He started to maneuver the broken door out of his way when Prentiss' words stopped him.

"Oh! Before I forget…J.J. said Rossi got us a suite of rooms at the Four Seasons. They're taking Hotch there. You need to bring Melinda when you're done at the hospital."

"Sure. See ya."

Morgan and Prentiss shared a smile, watching Reid, laden with Ana's purse, diaper bag, and baby, hurry away down the hall.

xxxxxxxxx

Reid's need to see his wife made him a fierce contender when it came to securing a cab.

The briefcase-toting suit who tried to hijack the one the young father had hailed, didn't stand a chance. Reid angled himself between the man and the open car door. With a deft twist of his hips, he managed to push the interloper away without disturbing Melinda. And after kicking in a door, he had no trouble booting the would-be cab thief's briefcase to the curb.

The driver laughed. Clearly, the man carrying a baby, a large, pink, overstuffed bag, and a woman's purse was no one to trifle with.

xxxxxxxxx

Flashing his badge and some cash got Rossi the help he needed to load Aaron into the town car, and, subsequently, into the Four Seasons Presidential suite via a discreet side door. Once the Unit Chief was installed in a bedroom, the older agent called Morgan to see if they needed help bringing Bescardi in.

"I think we got it, Rossi. She's out of it, but once we got her on her feet, she just kind of shuffles along where we steer her. Wish all our unsubs were this cooperative."

"Good. Let me know if anything changes, or you want me down there when you get to the hotel." Rossi wasn't sure what they'd do with her, but he felt better knowing Bescardi was under their control, rather than being subjected to police questioning…even if she seemed disinclined to speak at the moment.

He was more concerned about Hotch. That odd, old doctor had never given a direct 'yes' or 'no' answer to his question about whether the Unit Chief would be alright.

All he'd said was he'd do his best.

Rossi sighed and went to the room where Hotch was stretched out on the bed. The doctor was, as usual, sitting beside him, hand on his brow, making small, soothing motions. Rossi took his place on the opposite side. He placed a tentative hand on his friend's shoulder, noting how pale and strained he looked.

Rossi remembered the gesture he'd seen the doctor do in the past that had seemed to relax Hotch. Slowly, in case he was told to back off, he placed a hand along the side of his friend's face. As gently as he could, he ran his thumb back and forth over the jutting cheekbone. Rossi swallowed.

_You have to come back, Aaron. I never got a chance to take you to the zoo._


	70. Mother-Child Reunion

Reid was endlessly grateful that no police guard had been deemed necessary in Ana's case.

He'd been keeping his wife apprised of his and Melinda's progress as they neared the hospital. Anxious to get his daughter to her mother and a much-needed meal, he didn't want to be sidelined by inquisitive officers.

He'd also been keeping the images that had burned into his mind of what he'd experienced during Melinda's rescue in check. All he would show Ana was the baby's wide-eyed face and happy gurgling noises…tiny fists punching her daddy's chest and the wordless, joyful exclamations she would make when he let her wrestle his nose.

It was Mellie's favorite sport.

Reid did his best to hide the squalor of the place where their child had been kept like a beast in a cage, nor did he send Ana anything about the frantic chase through the streets, or the vacuous look on Bescardi's face when they'd found her.

He also kept hidden the tremendous power he suspected their daughter had employed. It frightened him. Melinda was so young; if she was capable of destroying a mind at her tender age, what would she be like when she matured? Reid told himself to gather data before jumping to conclusions.

First, his little family needed to see and touch and realize they were safe. But then, he wanted the doctor to examine Bescardi and tell him what had happened to her. And then it would be Melinda's turn. The man who'd delivered her into this world was the one most able to tell her parents exactly what they had on their hands.

Reid didn't want to admit it, but he could see a time when he would be scared of his own daughter. _And that's a terrible thing. How can I love her __**so**__ much and be afraid of her…of her power?_

All this he tried to keep from his wife as the cab pulled up to the hospital's main entrance.

xxxxxxxxx

Ana felt as though she hadn't been able to take a proper breath since the moment she realized she was alone. The baby-shaped hole in her heart just kept getting wider and wider, every beat was falling into an empty, echoing void. Alone. When Spencer's triumphant thoughts shouted across town to her…when she knew Melinda was safe and in her father's arms…Ana could breathe again. At last.

Her husband had sent her cautionary bits and pieces, warning her against telling the nurses anything. Apparently, some unorthodox means had been employed in their child's search and rescue. At least, that's what she assumed. All she knew for sure was that something untoward had happened that needed to be kept secret. Ana was used to keeping things close. And she trusted Spencer without reservation. But her elated anticipation was hard to keep under wraps. She was glad when the nursing staff changed shifts. There was less chance anyone who hadn't been there when she was admitted would wonder about the man and child, if they were noticed, slipping into her room.

The drugs were dissipating. Aside from a pounding headache, she felt fine. But the baby-sized hole in her heart needed a little more filling. When Reid's head with its tangle of brown hair poked around the corner, grinning widely, the hole more than filled.

Ana's heart overflowed. So did her eyes. She couldn't help it. Reid didn't want her to try. He was flowing a little freely himself.

The first thing he did was deposit Melinda in her mother's arms. The second was to close the door to Ana's room. The third was to take the same position he had when they'd first become parents; sitting at the head of the bed so Ana could use him as a backrest. It allowed him to wrap his long arms around his entire family. It was where he could hold them against his very soul. It was the place where he knew they were safest. It was home.

It was Reid's favorite place.

Ana's, too.

She made small, animal noises as she snuffled her baby's scent, reveling in her essence. When she looked up, craning her neck around to see her husband's face, Reid's breath caught.

He'd saved lives. He'd been accorded accolades for a job well done. But the look in Ana's eyes was the first time in his life he'd ever felt like a hero. She glowed at him. He accepted and basked in the light of the eyes that loved and trusted him without limit, without reservation. As she had said in her wedding vows…_this is_ _forever_.

Melinda nuzzled into her mother hungrily. If the two pairs of arms around her were a little tighter than usual, she didn't complain. Not Us was gone. She'd been able to touch Beautiful Him. And now Partly Him and Partly Her felt more like the energies she recognized and was used to. They were joyous and warm and so very, very safe and loving.

Melinda was happy.

_I want to get out of here, Spencer. I want to leave with you and Melinda._

_Okay._

_What? No argument?_

_No. _Reid snugged his arms closer around his family, his world, his universe. _That doctor came down from upstate. He's here. He wants to see Melinda._

There was a moment of silence. Reid could feel Ana's thought tendrils touching him, trying to read him.

_What aren't you telling me, Spencer?_

_A lot. We need to go where the team and the doctor are waiting. _He paused. _And you should know Hotch made himself available. He called Melinda to him and…and that's how I got to know who had taken her…Bescardi._

Ana's face drained of color. _Tell me. Tell me everything._

_I will, but let's get out of here first. Let's go to the others and then I'll let you __**see**__ everything, okay?_

Ana nodded, her joy displaced a little by the worried feeling she got from Spencer. She had a feeling Hotch was much the worse for the experience of helping the Reids. But it wasn't just that. There was more preying on her husband's mind.

_That's probably why that doctor came down here._ She swallowed and hugged Melinda closer. _It would take something __**really**__ serious to make him leave his home of…what?...__**centuries**__?_

So Ana tended their daughter and got dressed, while Reid tidied himself up as best he could and went to the nurses' station where he only felt a little bad about using his credentials as a doctor _and_ an FBI agent to have his wife discharged into his care.

Reid called Rossi and was told where to bring his family. A short time later, the young father stood with protective arms around his wife and child as they took a much more pleasant elevator ride than the one that had started their day.

xxxxxxxxx

The doctor's hands and gaze were steady.

Focused on Hotch, he was traveling through the psyche he'd come to know and love. To his ESP-er sight, it presented a complex puzzle of torn, charred filaments. It was a laborious process to separate out the injured strands and, in effect, salve them, soothe them, back to a state where they stood a good chance of healing on their own.

It would take fierce, unrelenting concentration. It would take hours upon hours to bring Hotch to a point where the doctor hoped he'd be able to function normally. After that, he was going to have to find a way to protect the man from any future interference. It would have to be something imposed upon the child who'd hurt him.

The doctor would know more once the telepath brought the little one for him to examine. He had developed some theories and suspicions, but he needed to communicate, psyche to psyche, before anything could be validated.

As he worked, he took snapshots of the damage and stored them in his memory. He wanted something to illustrate to the child why she couldn't touch Aaron any more. The doctor frowned. He would have to talk to her on a very visceral level. _She doesn't have words yet, but she does begin to have concepts. And she has power. Dear God, does that little girl have power._

Through it all, Rossi remained at Hotch's side. He had to shift position occasionally to ease muscles that grew stiff if they were locked into the same position for too long. But he never broke contact with his friend. The thumb that caressed a cheekbone; the fingers that massaged a shoulder or collarbone; the hand that held, or patted, or simply conveyed a warm, faithful presence. Rossi kept a physical connection…and waited.

No father could have done more.


	71. Psychic Burn Victim Number 2

Hotch was floating.

Muffled.

Cushioned.

It was an odd sensation. Not quite physical, but still edging on pain. The potential for agony was close.

_Is this psychic pain? Haven't I been through this before? I should know this._

For a moment he let himself drift and marveled at the strangeness of it all. Memories started sifting through. He didn't exert any effort to retrieve them. In fact, he didn't exert any effort whatsoever. Something was holding him as though he were wrapped in a phantom blanket. There were echo-things trying to reach him, but the blanket, or whoever was doing this to him, kept them at a distance. He could recognize them as pain, but they were hazy.

_Someone's taking care of me. Someone's protecting me._

It was such a comfortable thought. There were very few times in Hotch's life when he'd felt cared for in such a way.

Memories filtered down onto him like bitter flakes of ash.

He saw himself as a child, sick and hurt. His father turning up the music in the living room to cover his anger, so the neighbors could pretend they didn't hear what went on in the Hotchner household. His mother…torn between wanting to care for him and facing her husband's wrath if she did.

"_Don't coddle the boy. He has to learn to be strong on his own."_

When his mother resisted, she was hit and kicked and punched. And seven-year-old Aaron couldn't help her…not with the broken arm his father had given him for his birthday and the strep throat he'd picked up in the ER when he'd been brought in for a cast the next day.

_My fault. My fault she got hurt. My fault he hit her._

The ashes of his childhood drifted down and Hotch felt each one.

_Yes. This is psychic pain. I __**have**__ been here before._

xxxxxxxx

When the Reid family reached the hotel, the team was waiting.

Hotch, Rossi and the doctor were sequestered in one of the bedrooms. Reid and Ana exchanged glances, feeling a muted turbulence coming from behind the closed door.

_Oh, Spencer…no. Is this something Melinda did?_

Reid hung his head. _Yes. But it was me, too._ Moving closer, he kissed the tip of his daughter's nose. Ana got the feeling it was an act of defiance as well as love, as though he were proclaiming that there was nothing to fear; that his child's actions were justified.

Ana's eyes brimmed. _Maybe they were, but that doesn't make them right._

Reid looked around the spacious suite, appreciative of the standards to which Rossi could aspire. After a moment, he turned a puzzled frown on his teammates.

"Where's Bescardi?"

Morgan grimaced in distaste at the very name, the very _concept_ of the woman. "She's a mess and I'd rather not see any more of the bitch." He gave a sharp, dismissive jerk of his chin toward one of the closed doors. "We put her in the tub. Out of sight. Out of smell. 'Til the doc can deal with her, I guess."

Again, the Reids exchanged glances. Neither was picking up anything from the direction Morgan had indicated. Careful to keep herself between the bathroom door and Melinda, Ana stepped closer, gaze trained inward as she sampled the psychic currents with her empathy.

Nothing.

She raised solemn eyes toward her husband. _Did Melinda do __**this**__, too?_

Reid gave a single, miserable nod. Ana pulled her daughter ever closer to her heart. _I don't understand, Spencer. How?! She's just a baby!_

_I know._ He went to his wife and leaned his forehead against hers, Melinda nestled between them. _I think that's why the doctor wants to see her._ He raised his head, sending Ana a pulse of reassurance. _Let's wait and hear what he has to say before we start worrying, okay?_

Ana swallowed and nodded. They were lying to each other. Both were way past 'starting' to worry. They were already filling out citizenship applications to become permanent residents in the land where worry ruled.

xxxxxxxx

The old doctor still had a long night of work before him, but the tumult of concern and borrowed guilt Reid and Ana brought with them pricked at the edges of his concentration. Sighing, he, in effect, tucked the protective, psychic blanket tighter around Hotch's perceptions. When he pulled himself free of the labyrinth that was the Unit Chief's psyche, he looked up at Rossi.

The older agent seemed to have resigned himself to staying by his friend's side for an unknown length of time.

_Forever, if necessary._ The elderly doctor smiled. He saw the signs of unassailable devotion in the posture and the somewhat unfocused gaze. _He's aware of nothing right now but the battle waging within his son._ It did the old man's heart good to know that no matter what shape Aaron was in when he returned, love would be waiting for him. _If ever a child needed it, it's this one who was denied it for so long._

The doctor stretched, hearing a few joints pop in protest. His accompanying grunt roused Rossi from his trance-like regard of Hotch. The agent's raised brows begged an update on his friend's condition. The old man gave him a companionable touch on the shoulder, a comforting punctuation to his words.

"What Aaron did was foolish, but it's hard to be angry with a man whose motives are so noble." The ancient eyes looked back down at his patient. His voice was distant, as though her were talking of someone from his own past; someone recalled with affection. "There is a certain charm that attends the battered saint…a certain respect and admiration. However, it rarely ends well for the saint."

He gave Hotch's knee a pat as he levered himself up from his seat on the bedside. "Once we get him back, we will have to impress on Aaron that sacrificing himself creates pain for others. He sees only the suffering it will _alleviate_. He places no commensurate value as yet on himself. He's not sure of his place in others' hearts."

Rossi knew about Hotch's self-doubt. However, he chose to focus on the words that offered hope. "So, then, we _will_ get him back?"

The doctor let every wrinkle that denoted mirth in his kindly face deepen. "I think so. _But…_" He held up a cautionary finger. "…he still has a great deal of healing ahead of him. And that is only half the battle. We have to make sure this sort of thing _never_ happens again." He turned toward the bedroom door. "To that end, I'm going to leave Aaron with you while I have a discussion of sorts with the telepath's child."

Rossi blinked, wondering what would pass for conversation with a newborn baby. He decided it was best not to delve any deeper into this world of things he'd never fully grasp. Nodding, he looked back at the man on the bed. "Alright. Anything I can do to help him while you're gone?"

"Just talk to him, if you like. Remind him that he's a distinctly irreplaceable combination of perception and reaction, of bravery and bruises and bad decisions." The doctor traced a line along the unconscious man's jaw. "Remind him that the space he fills in this world is not inconsiderable."

Rossi looked a little overcome by the poetic turn the doctor was displaying. The old man smiled as he turned away. "Just tell your son you love him. That's all he really needs. All he's _ever_ really needed."

As Rossi bent to the task of expressing paternal love, there was a little more hope in his heart. He knew what he wanted to say.

The words had been resting unspoken for years, property of a life he'd thought vanished.

xxxxxxxxxx

When the doctor came out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him, he walked into a very quiet, very grave group of people.

J.J., Prentiss and Morgan had taken various positions around the suite, unsure of what they were supposed to do next. J.J. had managed to occupy herself for a short time with calls to Garcia and her husband, but now she had gravitated to the point farthest from the bathroom; as far from Bescardi as she could get without deserting her comrades.

Prentiss seemed to have the same idea. She was standing before one of the floor-to-ceiling windows that afforded the room a magnificent view of Central Park. She tracked street movement with an absent air, clearly thinking of other things.

Morgan had pulled one of the large, ornate Chippendale chairs closer to the room where they'd put Hotch. Ever and always, he would be on guard. Watching his leader's back no matter how strange and paranormal the situation surrounding him might be.

Reid and Ana huddled together on a sofa. Melinda dozed in her mother's arms, fed, cleaned and peaceful. When the doctor approached, however, she stirred, opening honey-hued eyes as the old man crouched down and looked directly at her.

_Hello, little one. You've had quite an adventure today. I know you're sleepy, but you and I need some time together._

The young parents straightened, reluctant to let their child out of their possession after the day's events. But when the doctor took her from Ana with gentle hands, Melinda didn't object. She gazed into the remarkably old eyes and made happy noises.

The images she saw deep within them of Partly Her and Partly Him and Beautiful Him were just right. Perfect, in fact.

Without words, she felt a sense of kinship with this mind that saw the truth and essence of souls just as she did.


	72. Quiet Conversations

The doctor took Melinda into one of the unoccupied bedrooms.

Reid and Ana tried to follow him, but before they could enter he closed the door with a decisive click and a parting thought. _Listen in, if you wish. But do __**not**__ interfere. And do __**not**__ tag along where I take her. You have my word your child will come to no harm in my presence. And I will tell you everything I discover about her afterwards._

The young parents gave each other uneasy looks, but didn't object. They had a feeling to do so would have been a gesture both useless and disrespectful. A bit like questioning the wind, or the ocean, or Mother Nature herself. There was too little common ground for them to debate the doctor's means or methods. He was beyond them.

They retreated to a corner of the sofa. Resuming their seats, their hands crept together, twining fingers and wondering if their daughter was beyond them as well.

xxxxxxxx

The doctor cradled Melinda in his arms, gazing down into her amber eyes and letting her inspect him in return as much as she wished. They were getting acquainted, paving the road they would take together with trust before venturing forth upon it. To an onlooker they would seem to be nothing more remarkable than a grandfather…or perhaps _great-great-_grandfather…holding the latest addition to his family.

But the semblance of something ordinary stopped there. Beneath the surface they were uncommonly _extra_ordinary.

Slowly, with the lightest of touches, the doctor explored the images and experiences drifting through Melinda's mind. He let himself sample her feelings and thought patterns. He traveled her short journey in this world. He looked through timelines and convergences that might impact her…or had in the past.

She in turn tugged at his emotions and challenged his abilities without once exhibiting resistance or rebellion. She was exploring him, too, but there was too much for her to absorb. So she settled on the wonderfully perfect images of Partly Him, Partly Her and Beautiful Him. Like the bed Goldilocks had chosen in a tale her mother had yet to read her, they were j-u-u-u-st right.

She gave a tiny sigh of contentment.

The doctor had been most concerned with the power that had injured Hotch's psyche. However, when he'd felt the burst of energy as Melinda lashed out at Bescardi, he'd realized that Aaron's damage was nothing in comparison. No action had been taken to provoke the child. It was simply the aftereffect of her passage through his mind. She hadn't meant to hurt him and was, as yet, unaware that she had.

_So…that is where we start._ The ancient eyes closed. _Come with me, little one. There is something I must show you._

He used the images he'd preserved during his hours with Hotch. He placed them before Melinda, creating an animated progression from a psyche whole and happy to a psyche burned and in pain. He debated the wisdom of showing her more. When he sensed comprehension in the child, he decided to risk it.

_The lesson __**must**__ be taught, or Aaron will fall prey again. She loves him too much to leave him alone right now. But with understanding, with knowledge, she might love him __**enough**__ to consign herself to living outside his mind._

The doctor showed Melinda the effects of what such damage, left untreated, could do to Hotch. When he finished, he showed her what Beautiful Him was like now. Pale. Silent. Still. Not the warm, affectionate, welcoming presence she associated with him.

It took some time, but in the end, the doctor thought the child grasped the lesson he was trying to teach, to illustrate with psychic portraits of Aaron. Pictures of cause and effect. Pictures from before and after his contact with Melinda.

xxxxxxx

Little Melinda was disturbed by the images.

These were not just visual likenesses. They were captured moments of essence, of souls. They went deeper than depictions of scent, sight, sound, taste and texture. What was being shown to her communicated everything that comforted and called to her. And when she realized who they were, the loneliness she'd felt at being denied access to Beautiful Him, deepened into heartache for what had been done to him.

And when she realized _who_ had done these things to the beautiful spirit of Beautiful Him, Melinda wailed her grief…

…and fled.

xxxxxxx

Rossi sat in a chair pulled close to Hotch's bedside.

He leaned over the beloved, familiar face, studying its pallor. The doctor had left to see Melinda. It was strangely quiet throughout the suite, which seemed odd, but appropriate; as though everyone was waiting for something to happen…or finish. Or perhaps it was the quiet of mourning.

_No. Not that. I won't even think of that._

Rossi brought a hand up and smoothed the lines on Hotch's brow; an imitation of the doctor's touch, his healing touch.

"I don't know if you can hear me, Aaron, but the doctor suggested I talk to you. He knows you're my son. And, Heaven help me, I believe it, too, so I'm going to have one hell of a strange tale to tell if I ever go to confession again."

Rossi's brief smile at the thought vanished as he continued.

"Matter of fact, I think you're the only one of us who doesn't quite buy the idea. But it doesn't matter. I know who you are. And where you belong. With me. I'm your father, Aaron, and I haven't given you permission to leave yet…" Rossi's attempt at a stern voice failed. He faded to silence.

His hand traced the contours of Hotch's face, finally settling on the position he knew brought comfort. Palm resting along the cool, angular jaw, he ran his thumb over the cheekbone in slow, soothing rhythm.

"He said to tell you I love you, but I've done that and it didn't stop you from risking yourself. Seems you can't understand that when you do something like…_this_…it…it…" He took a steadying breath. "You think it won't really matter to anyone."

Rossi shifted and cleared a throat grown tight. "Well, you're wrong, Aaron. And if being told you're loved won't sink into that stubborn, hard skull of yours, then maybe it'll be easier for you to understand the trouble you cause. Maybe it's easier for you to accept being told you're bad than being told you're loved." The older agent nodded. Letting his hand drop to Hotch's chest, he patted him a few times.

"Yeah… That's it… You're a bad boy, Aaron. You have to come back and make things right. Because of what you've done today, your father won't have anyone to go to the zoo with. And he won't get to take you camping. Or fishing. Or hiking. And he was really looking forward to getting you back for that damn, stupid, lavender unicorn you mounted on his office wall." Rossi's voice cracked, but recovered as he picked up momentum, warming to his theme.

"I was going to get into your house and replace all your ties with pink ascots. I was going to teach you how to cook Italian and try to get some weight on you. And we haven't had a chance to take a vacation together, so I could show you and Jack where I grew up."

Rossi's voice was rising in anger, albeit at the unfairness of the situation rather than at Hotch. "So, you better get your sorry, skinny, little butt back here, boy…"

xxxxxxx

Melinda's psyche fled.

After a moment of astonished surprise, the doctor's was in close pursuit.

Having seen how the child formed responses and reactions, he had a fairly good idea of where she was headed.

_Aaron. I have to surround her and stop her from deepening the damage she's already done._

But the fresh, new soul was fast and fleet and driven by, of all things,…love. She was into Hotch before even the doctor could stop her. Still, his psyche followed.

He sharpened his vision, tailoring it to Melinda's energy, Melinda's aura. He found her almost instantly. But it was too late to stop her. And when the doctor saw what she was doing, he found he didn't want to.

He joined her.

Contained and controlled, with an awareness that stunned the doctor's expectations of an infant…even one as remarkable as the telepath's child, little Melinda was, in effect, fingerpainting. Her psychic tendrils, so like her mother's, pushed and pulled and formed Beautiful Him's energy into the picture she wanted. She had the images…the happy ones from before the Bad Thing she'd done…perfectly preserved in the eidetic memory she'd inherited from her father. She poured herself into making the bad parts go away and making the hurt parts look just as they had before she'd touched them.

Awed at an ability he'd never encountered before, the doctor joined his sense of finesse and his knowledge of Hotch to the effort.

Back in the room where he held the baby in his arms, a slow smile spread across the wrinkled features. He had found another name worth remembering, worth keeping track of.

_Melinda. This is Melinda. The telepath's daughter._

xxxxxxxx

Rossi's frustrated anger had run its course.

Leaning almost parallel to the floor, he rested his chin on the hand still splayed across Hotch's chest; his tired eyes searching the younger man's face for any sign, any reaction. His voice was reedier, softer.

"You're a bad boy for breaking my heart, Aaron. And if you're thinking of running away, of leaving me now…I'll never forgive you. You're all about making things right. So, you better come back. Or you're a very, very, bad…"

The chest beneath Rossi's hand expanded, lifting in a sudden, deep intake of oxygen. Rossi's head snapped up. He straightened, eyes tracking a frantic path from chest to face to chest again, looking for more signs of recovery, of hope.

Hotch's lids flickered.

When the dark eyes opened and focused, there was confusion in them. He didn't recognize this place. He had no idea where he was. But there was a hand on his chest.

Slowly, he tracked up the wrist, the arm…to the face watching him so intently.

Hotch gave a weak smile to the only person he wasn't surprised to find staying by his side.

"Dad…"

It was the single, most beautiful thing anyone had ever said to Rossi.


	73. Special Children

While the doctor was closeted with Melinda, Reid used the time to let Ana 'see' everything that she'd missed during her hospital stay.

Originally, he'd intended to shield her from the sordid scene where their daughter had been kept, as well as the frightening blast of energy Melinda had leveled at Bescardi. However, when he touched Ana and felt the tiniest frisson of sympathy for the woman's present condition, he decided a total reveal was in order. It was the right choice.

When Ana saw the grimy, unsafe environment into which her baby had been brought, Reid felt the compassion, which was her natural empath's reaction to most people and situations, recede. In fact, he was beginning to wonder if he would need to restrain the young mother from inflicting bodily damage commensurate with that of the psychic variety Melinda had bestowed on her kidnapper.

But when Ana saw how Hotch had made himself available as a conduit between her husband and daughter, her sympathy and concern for their friend overrode the lingering anger.

_Spencer…_ Her sad eyes sought and found resonance in his. _He did it again. He risked himself to find her for us. _ Reid nodded.

_He's stupid._ Reid nodded.

_And he doesn't care what happens to __**him**__, does he?_ Reid shook his head.

_We owe him. Big time._ Reid nodded.

_You look like one of those bobble-head toys._ Reid smiled.

Melinda's sobbing wail, as she realized she'd hurt her Beautiful Him, cut short the discussion of Hotch's contribution to her rescue.

Both young parents shot off the sofa in unison, sprinting for the closed door from behind which they'd heard their daughter's cry. Reid's hand was on the knob, but something stopped him from turning it. His wife piled into him in the wake of his abrupt halt. Frowning, she stared at his frozen grip, waiting for him to turn the handle.

_Spencer! Open it!_ She glanced up at his face and the conflict so plainly written upon it. _What's wrong?! Melinda! It's Melinda! SPENCER!_

Reid shook himself out of the thoughts holding him hostage.

Looking down at his wife, he tried to explain as he continued to hold himself in check._ He said not to interfere._

_That's our daughter in there!_ Disbelief and outrage colored Ana's words.

_I know! But…he said __**not**__ to interfere, and __**not**__ to tag along..._

Ana's telepathic communication was punctuated by a very audible, low, guttural growl. _I don't __**care**__ what he said! I'm her __**mother**__!_ And, claiming all the rights and privileges thereof, beginning and sometimes ending with the right to protect one's young with one's own life, if necessary…Ana tore Spencer's hand away and turned the knob herself, pushing the door inward…

xxxxxxxxxxx

Rossi smiled down at the half-closed eyes.

"D….Dave…" Hotch caught himself, substituting one word for another. Of this, Rossi was sure.

_That's alright. Even if I never get to hear it again, I was called 'Dad' by the only man I wanted to say it._

"How are you feeling, Aaron?" The older agent remained seated, hand still resting on Hotch's chest.

The eyes blinked at him, sleepily. "Okay. I'm okay. Fine, I guess…" When Rossi's gaze was steady, disallowing any pretense or evasion, Hotch sighed. "Tired. Kind of…just…worn out. Sort of."

"Well, then maybe you should sleep some more."

Something about the statement disturbed Hotch, but he wasn't sure what. His brain felt slow, sluggish; as though he'd already slept way too much and couldn't quite shake loose from the aftereffects. He looked away from Rossi, eyes scanning across the ceiling with its ornate mahogany molding set against buttery yellow frescoed plaster. "Where are we? I don't remember coming here."

"You wouldn't. You were…out of it." Rossi gave an appreciative look around the stately bedroom. "This is the Four Seasons. The Presidential Suite, to be exact."

"Oh." Hotch's eyes took in the furnishings and drapes, then returned to Rossi's, hoping for clues about why he felt he was forgetting something. Something important. Something vitally important…. When they widened with sudden recall, the older man's hand was firm, pressing down on Aaron's chest to keep him from bolting upright.

"Melinda! Reid! Where's Melinda?!"

"Shhhhhh…Shh…Shh…Shh. Calm. Stay calm, Aaron. Everything's fine. Every_one's_ fine."

But even if Rossi could keep his friend's body under control, he couldn't stop the leaping mind.

"Bescardi had her…_took_ her! Where's Melinda?! Reid? God, Da…Dave…that woman _took_ a baby!"

Rossi moved from his chair onto the edge of the bed itself, exerting a little more leverage to keep Hotch down. "If you'll lie still, I'll tell you everything, okay? Deal?"

The breathing was a bit too fast. The heart was racing, adrenaline rushing through a body that wasn't being allowed to respond to the biological cue for action.

"D-e-a-l?" Rossi drew the word out, hoping that slowing his speech would have a palliative effect on Hotch. After a moment, it seemed to be working. Hotch made himself relax back into the bedding and closed his eyes, hiding their frantic fear for his goddaughter.

"Yeah…okay…deal."

Rossi didn't quite buy it. He patted the chest a few times and then remembered the touch that he'd seen calm Hotch better than any other. Again, he laid a hand along the gaunt cheek and massaged the cheekbone beneath his thumb. When Hotch took a steadying breath and opened his eyes, the leading edge of panic had left them. Rossi smiled.

"That's better. Now breathe and stay quiet. I'll tell you everything that happened…everything I know. So far, anyway."

It was an odd recitation. Rossi kept his voice low and soothing as he spoke of horror, and terror, and things paranormal that neither he nor Hotch would ever truly comprehend. He had just reached the point where the elderly physician who had been their savior so many times, had said he was going to check on Melinda when a disturbance beyond the bedroom made him pause.

It sounded like an animal's growl, but even through the thickness of the mahogany door, there was a distinctly feminine quality to it.

"Ana!" Hotch bolted from the bed and promptly lost his balance, the ordeal he'd been through taking its toll, reminding him that lying supine for a prolonged period usually required one take a moment and acclimatize oneself to standing upright again.

But, as always, Rossi was there to catch his friend and help him to the door. Hotch opened it and the two agents stumbled through, ready to add their efforts to defending the young mother from whatever danger had drawn that primal sound from her throat.

xxxxxxxxx

Prentiss and J.J. moved fast from their respective places around the room's perimeter, converging on Ana and Reid, but unsure exactly why they were doing so.

Morgan sprang into action, launching himself toward the young woman bent on reaching her child. But when Hotch and Rossi exploded through the doorway of their room, he wavered, unsure. Hotch commanded his allegiance first and foremost, but the sound that had issued from Ana clearly demanded a response. Relief at seeing his boss on his feet, yet still shaky, warred with his instinct to run to Ana's aid.

His quandary was solved when Hotch, with Rossi keeping a supportive hand on his back, made his way toward Reid and his wife.

Ana had the door open. Two steps within, she stopped.

The doctor was holding Melinda before him, looking into her eyes with deep concentration. The child wasn't in danger. Ana hesitated, Reid at her back. Hotch and Rossi entered the room, but the others hovered just outside, sensing that this was something best left undisturbed.

After an uncomfortable few minutes that gave the intruders enough time to start fidgeting and second-guessing their actions, the doctor seemed to return with a start from whatever psychic journey or inspection he'd been conducting. He returned Melinda to the cradle of his arms and smiled down at her. Always the gentleman, he spoke aloud in deference to those incapable of telepathic communication.

"Well, this is quite a talented little girl you have here." He looked up at Ana with sympathetic eyes. "I think I've seen enough." His glance traveled to Hotch. "And after what she's done on Aaron's behalf, I think she could use some rest and nourishment. Here…" He presented the baby to Ana with a delicacy and respect that erased all motherly anxiety.

"Is she really alright?" Reid spoke up as his wife snuggled Melinda to her and retreated to a quiet corner.

Before answering, the doctor stood. Walking to where Hotch was leaning against Rossi, panting lightly, he peered at the Unit Chief over the top of his crescent lenses. He looked him up and down before placing a gentle hand against his forehead. For a moment, he seemed to be listening to something only detectable to him. He dropped his hand and continued to stare at Hotch.

Reid grew a trifle uneasy. "Doctor? Is she? Alright?"

The old man took Hotch's arm and steered him toward the door. "I want to examine Aaron before we speak, telepath. But I'll say this…" He shot a glance toward the corner where Ana was feeding her baby. "Your child…_Melinda_…is more than 'alright.' She's miraculous."

It wasn't lost on Reid that the doctor now called Melinda by name…something reserved only for a very few who held special places in his life and in his heart.


	74. Healed

With Rossi in close attendance, the doctor deposited Hotch back on the bed from which he'd so recently risen.

The Unit Chief took a seat on the mattress edge despite the weariness that made him want to lie down and allow himself to drift into a doze. _Really getting tired of spending so much time unconscious around this guy_, he thought a little uncharitably about the elderly doctor.

"That's because you're always in trouble when you come to me…or, in this case, when I come to you." The smile was kindly as the old man pulled his chair closer, allowing him to sit knee to knee with Hotch. He smoothed the hair back from his patient's forehead and peered through the bottoms of his glasses at the downcast eyes.

"Look at me, Aaron." The eyes flicked upward obediently.

After a moment, Hotch frowned. He was a little slow on the uptake and something had just registered in his groggy brain. "You came to us. You left your home. Why?"

The doctor gave Rossi an amused glance before answering. "Why? Because you needed me. That's why."

"But…that's…" Hotch gave his head a little shake as though trying to clear it. "You don't do that."

Placing fingers along each side of his patient's jaw, he tipped the head up, holding it steady so he could inspect whatever presented itself to his ESP-er vision through the window of the eyes.

"I do whatever is necessary…" He moved slightly, granting himself different angles of observation. "…Nothing less. Nothing more."

"But…"

"Shhhh…Aaron." Rossi placed a hand on Hotch's shoulder and squeezed, underlining the imperative to keep still.

After several minutes of intense concentration, the doctor nodded. Letting both hands drop to his patient's shoulders, he squeezed. But whereas Rossi's grip had been admonitory, this one was reassuring. He followed up by rotating and pressing Hotch's upper body down in the direction of the mounded pillows. The Unit Chief didn't resist, bringing his legs up and stretching out full length with a sigh. He wanted to ask questions, and to go see Ana and his goddaughter, but the leaden feeling in his limbs told him he wouldn't be much use without some rest.

The doctor and Rossi stood side by side, looking down on a yawning Aaron. Rossi spoke first.

"Is he alright?"

The old man shook his head, alarming the agent until he realized it was a gesture of bemusement, rather than one of negation.

"She shouldn't have been able to do that." The grizzled head continued its perplexed movement. "Encountering something _that_ unexpected almost makes me feel young again." He glanced toward Rossi and realized his words were giving scant comfort. "I'm sorry. Your boy will be fine with a few hours of sleep. But that child…she shouldn't have been able to do that."

Rossi misunderstood, thinking the reference was to how Melinda had been able to access Hotch in the first place, especially after all the work that had gone into providing him with a defensive talisman.

"She didn't force her way. He invited her." Rossi's voice was mixed regret and admiration. "He took the bracelet off and hid it. He knew he'd be able to make Melinda find him before we could get it back on him." Rossi shook his head, speaking more loudly for Hotch's benefit. "It was a bonehead move, Aaron. You didn't know for sure what the risks of doing that were."

"Mmmphhf." It was all the Unit Chief had to say on the subject. He covered his eyes with one forearm, blocking out the light from the room's elegant, torchieres.

"I didn't mean that." The doctor shoved his hands in his pockets, still regarding his patient with a slightly baffled expression. "I mean what she did to him just now." He turned eyes that crinkled with a happy kind of wonder to Rossi. "She healed him. It was a little rough around the edges, but she healed our Aaron faster than I could have."

Rossi was staring. Hotch moved the arm covering his eyes and joined the older agent in subjecting the doctor to a look of complete confusion.

"Melinda. A two-month-old baby. _HEALED_ him?" Rossi's chin was raised; his eyes narrowed. A portrait of skepticism. Hotch kept very still and followed the exchange with a touch of fear beginning to blossom in his chest.

The doctor turned his regard back to Hotch. "Yes. She did in minutes what I was prepared to devote myself to for the rest of the night and a good portion of tomorrow."

"But…how…when…" Rossi realized he didn't even know what sort of question would be appropriate in such an unimaginably strange situation.

"A new technique. One I've never encountered before." His voice lowered as though the next words were reflections of private thoughts not intended for anyone else's ears. "…maybe from a new species of ESP-er…"

Taking a deep breath, the doctor pulled himself back and turned a more professional look on the two agents. "I did a little smoothing over of her work, and now I've examined Aaron. I don't see anything more that needs to be addressed." He bent his head and looked at his patient over the tops of his glasses. "You're frightened. It's a little late for that. The time for fear and caution was _before_ you abandoned what was protecting you, child. Learn from that." He turned to leave, but Rossi's words stopped him before he'd gone more than a few steps.

"Is Hotch safe now? Will she do this again?...The hurting, I mean…or, I guess maybe I mean the healing, too."

"I think I've impressed upon her the need to respect Aaron's sovereignty when it comes to his psyche, his own mind. But…" He resumed moving toward the door. "…I really should discuss Melinda with her parents before we talk of her any more. Patient-doctor confidentiality and such, you know."

He paused in the doorway before stepping out into the suite's living room. "As for Aaron…see that he gets some rest. I'll look in again after I've dealt with a few things."

With a kindly smile and a polite nod, the old man left, closing the bedroom door behind him on two men who he sensed would need some time to come to grips with what had happened to them at the hands of…or psyche of…a newborn baby.

xxxxxxxx

For a few minutes Rossi and Hotch stared at each other, neither moving. Then, the older man once again sat in the chair, pulling it close to the bedside. He searched his friend's dark eyes, seeing something of the fear the doctor had mentioned.

"How're you doing for real, Aaron?"

Hotch swallowed and let his head fall back, no longer staring at the door through which that odd, old man had departed. Rossi studied him in silence, giving him time to formulate a response. When it came, it was low; the baritone voice a little shaky.

"I don't ever want to go through that again."

Rossi bent closer, laying a hand against one lean cheek. "Then don't put yourself in the line of fire. Especially when you have no idea what kind of weird, paranormal bullets might be flying your way. Understand?"

Hotch nodded and for once the older agent though he might actually learn from this experience _not_ to risk himself so readily. He patted the cheek and straightened up.

"Doctor said to get some rest, so…"

Hotch interrupted, eyes still locked with Rossi's. "Dave?"

"Hmmm?"

"Did I…" The Unit Chief licked dry lips. "Did I call you 'Dad?' When I was coming around?"

Rossi let the memory of that moment spread a wide, happy grin across his face. "Yes, you did."

A few beats of silence fell during which Hotch's eyes scanned his friend, using his profiling skills to gage his reaction. He found the grin encouraging.

"Was that…okay?"

A chuckle began low in Rossi's belly. He leaned over and planted a loud, very Italian kiss on Hotch's forehead.

"Aaron, I could listen to that every day for the rest of my life." The warmth in the older man's voice and eyes finally brought out an answering smile on Hotch. But it was a tired smile. Rossi had intended to see what the others were up to, but now he settled back in his chair, grin still firmly in place.

"As I was saying…the doctor said to get some rest." Hotch was still watching him, still searching, still unsure of his welcome as a son. Rossi's face gradually assumed a more solemn look. "Close your eyes, Aaron. I'll stay with you until you fall asleep…and I'll be here when you wake up."

The dark eyes blinked, then slowly closed.

For the next few hours, Rossi ignored whatever else might be happening beyond the bedroom door…or anywhere else in the world for that matter. He remained by Aaron's bedside, and savored a very special kind of happiness; that of a father watching over his son's restful, healing slumber.


	75. Fawn

The doctor closed the door behind him and turned to assess the people waiting in the living room.

He could virtually taste the nervous anticipation emanating from Melinda's parents. The other three were in what he considered a limbo state. They were not psychic. They were friends whose concern for their comrades verged on the familial. But they were uncomfortable in the present situation; wanting to help, but lacking the means to do so when everything was playing out in an arena so unfamiliar it relegated them to the background.

So they stayed on the fringes, but the doctor read their willingness to help, if only someone would tell them how.

_A good group of people. Aaron's family…the one he created when the one he was born into was so destructively disappointing._ He smiled at the thought that a man with so much doubt as to his own worthiness, could inspire such fierce loyalty in those around him. _I correct myself: he didn't 'create' this family, so much as he 'attracted' them to him._ The doctor shook his head and gave a deep sigh. _The injuries within him might never heal completely, but at least now he has a father who won't worsen them, or add to the pain he already carries._

He felt Reid's and Ana's eyes on him. _And now for the child who is far more likely to __**do**__ harm, than to be harmed herself. Melinda._

He approached the little family and smiled reassurance at them.

_Telepath…empath…since this is to be a discussion subject to doctor-patient confidentiality, we can either conduct it telepathically, or adjourn to one of the bedrooms. Your choice._

Reid and Ana glanced at each other, already in accord about taking the most direct route to learning what this man had deduced about their daughter. The pair braced themselves mentally; an adjustment so apparent to the doctor that he took pity on them and decided to alleviate their worries.

_Relax, both of you. She is not some monstrous creature who will end up leveling cities and destroying populations._

His attempt to use humor to lighten the situation wasn't entirely successful. Reid's eyes widened, unable to keep scenes from some of his favorite, vintage, horror movies flashing through his mind. Fuzzy-looking prehistoric beasts emitting the standard I'm-a-monster roar, and rampaging through cardboard models of Tokyo did nothing to ease his concern.

The doctor sat down beside them. _I apologize. This is anything but a matter of levity to you. So let me explain about your child._

Ana looked up._ She hurt Hotch. And she did __**something**__ to Carol Bescardi. Something that scares me._ Her declaration begged to be refuted, so the doctor did his best. Although he hadn't examined the disturbed woman in the bathroom, he could feel her presence. He found it distasteful…abhorrent, even. He wasn't looking forward to inspecting her at close range, but eventually he knew he would have to.

_I think it's important in Melinda's case to take motive into account. She acts out of innocence. Hers is not a cognitive process, but more a motivational force. And in both cases, when her power did harm, that motivating force was love._

Reid's brows rose in a quizzical arc. _Love. Seriously? She __**loved**__ her kidnapper? The woman who attacked and injured her mother?_

_Allow me to explain, telepath._ The doctor reached over and touched sleeping Melinda's cheek, stroking its softness with a gentle index finger. The fondness evident in his look, in his smile, made it clear that he didn't find the little girl, nor her power, at all frightening.

_She saw into the kidnapper's mind. The images of you, the empath, and Aaron were warped, twisted…but still recognizable. Melinda adores all three of you. You are her world. Her love for you is so deep that the versions she detected in her kidnapper were painful for her perception. _He drew his finger back and smiled at the sleeping baby. _What she did to that woman was in defense of her loved ones. She is only now, after communicating with me, beginning to understand the effects of her actions. At the time, I believe she had no idea she was doing anything other than making sure the people she cares for most were preserved in a true and honest manner…not the false images her attacker promoted._

The doctor transferred his gaze from child to parents. _Her effect on Aaron was simply a matter of her natural, psychic energy being too strong for his mind to endure._ The old eyes flicked up to engage Reid's for a moment. _Coupled with __**your**__ energy, of course. The combination was even more damaging._

He could feel a welling up of guilt and anxiety in the young father.

_Stop it, telepath. You did the right thing. Aaron made himself available to Melinda. It was his choice. If you hadn't accepted his invitation to join her, Aaron would still have been hurt, and it would have been for nothing. You still wouldn't know who had taken your child. You might still be looking for her._

Reid tamped down his almost reflexive self-blame and nodded. With Bescardi seemingly catatonic, he couldn't let himself even begin to think what would have happened to Melinda, if he hadn't found her. Ana snuggled a little more tightly against him, giving her tacit approval and silent support. The doctor continued.

_But you should know, what harm your daughter did to Aaron is nothing as remarkable as the way in which she healed him._ He waited for the reaction he knew would come.

_H-Healed him?_ It was unusual to stutter telepathically, but Reid managed it.

_Yes. Your months-old girl who has seen so little of this life…healed him. And she did it more quickly than I ever could._

Ana and Reid drew even closer together.

_H-How?_ Without meaning to, Melinda's mother echoed the stutter of her father.

_By using reference points I'd given her…preserved in her memory to perfection. In that, she is her father's daughter. As for the technique she employed…I've never encountered it before._ The compassionate face lapsed into mirthful wrinkles. _Someday, I may well be her student, if she retains that particular talent._ He sat back a little, giving the stunned parents time to digest his words. Reid's lightning-quick mind made the jump the doctor knew it would, giving rise to his next question.

"_**If**__ she retains?" What does that mean?_

Ana chimed in. _How are we supposed to keep her safe? How are we supposed to be able to give her a normal life? _She was worried more about the practical aspects of raising such a gifted child.

The doctor raised a hand, staving off any additional queries.

_I think…in fact, I'm certain…that as Melinda matures, her powers will lessen. I've seen the most probable line of her progression. The power she has now, the power to lash out defensively on a psychic level is a protective characteristic given to assure survival of a species' young. Like a fawn's spots, it exists to shield her from danger. And, like a fawn's spots, it will fade._

Telepathic silence descended as Reid and Ana looked from the doctor to the peaceful face of little Melinda. Ana cuddled her baby closer, a wave of fierce love catching at her breath.

_A fawn? Like Bambi?_ The image was at once incongruous and comforting.

The doctor chuckled. _What I'm saying is that you shouldn't worry overmuch about raising your child. By the time she is ready for integration into society, she won't be wiping people's minds or burning their psyches. _

He gave the small, sleeping bundle a thoughtful look. _But I do think that she will retain her healing powers. They may fade somewhat, but I believe they will still be __**quite**__ considerable throughout her life. __**Quite**__ considerable. She will need to be careful about bringing them to public attention._ He sighed. _Of such things are legends made…and miracles as well…_

Reid didn't comment. He was caught on the words the doctor had used… '_a species' young.'_ He was wondering if he and Ana had somehow produced a new species, a step up on the evolutionary ladder. He shivered.

_Bescardi would have loved that._

xxxxxxxxx

Hotch was dreaming.

He was injured, limping...alone. He knew he was trying to get home from someplace cold and unfriendly, but he had so far to travel.

And he was tired.

A cloud was forming over the trail he knew he had to take. Strange that it should form so quickly. Painful, dragging steps brought him to it. And then into it.

Strange vapor surrounded him, caressing his limbs and exposed skin. It felt good, soothing. He began to straighten and walk with a steadier, easier step. Wondering, he looked down at himself.

His wounds were closing. His bruises fading. Before his eyes his body healed.

When he looked up again, the cloud was swirling in almost-shapes.

It was lavender, shot with sprays of gold.

_Beautiful_, he thought.

He walked on and began to hear a sound. He didn't know what it was, but he knew it was his destination. He knew by the time he reached it, he would be completely healed. So he listened to it and followed its call.

_Errrrr…unnnn…Errrrr…unnnn…_

xxxxxxxx

Rossi was keeping watch over Aaron as he slept. Secretly, he was very happy for the opportunity. He regretted what had happened to Hotch, but he enjoyed feeling protective, and he was using the time to daydream about things he hoped they'd have a chance to do together, as father and son.

He was also hoping that, when Aaron woke up, he'd be disoriented and groggy enough, for just a brief moment, to call him 'Dad' again.

Rossi smiled at the thought. The smile spread to a grin when he noticed the edges of Hotch's lips twitch upward, a sleepy imitation.

_He's dreaming._

Rossi settled back to watch, pleased that Aaron's dream was sweet.


	76. Damage Control

The doctor watched the young parents evaluate his diagnosis of their daughter.

He could see their psychic awareness enfold it; test it from different angles. When he saw their thoughts begin to extrapolate beyond the immediate situation, he knew they'd reached a state of acceptance.

_Planning for the future is a sure sign they're up to the challenge, to the worries…and also the joys…of raising a truly remarkable child._ He smiled approval at them before turning to a less pleasant task.

The woman in the bathroom. In the tub, to be exact. He wrinkled his nose in distasteful anticipation. After the gentle, ordered mind of Aaron, and the exceptionally lively one of the baby, what awaited him next was like a breath of foul air. His senses recoiled at the psychic stench before he'd even trained the full force of his perception on the creature.

With a sigh, the doctor rose, leaving Reid and Ana to confer in silent telepathy over plans to safeguard and nurture little Melinda.

He turned to look at the three FBI agents. They'd been very quiet, watching his silent exchange with the Reids. He sensed concern, skepticism, and, in the man, a certain discomfort when dealing with any aspect of the paranormal. Brow furrowed, he was staring at the doctor, keeping a close watch on his every move. He seemed a bit disconcerted when the old man chuckled and addressed him.

"I understand your antipathy, agent. But be assured, at my age I will make no sudden moves."

Morgan gave a small start, catching himself almost immediately. In true alpha fashion, he raised his chin and, although attempting to explain, didn't offer the least hint of apology. "You've helped my friends. I know that. But a lot of what goes on in your…world…or discipline…or _whatever_ you want to call it…has hurt them, too. I don't think you need to be fast on your feet to be a threat."

With a distant, considering look in his eyes, the doctor nodded. "True." After a few beats he focused on the agent. "You find me beyond your understanding and, therefore, beyond your ability to anticipate. All I can tell you is that I mean none of you harm. I hold Aaron dear…just as you do."

Morgan wasn't ready to concede anything. "Not 'just' as I do. Being around this…stuff…this _paranormal_ stuff has hurt him. A lot. If it were up to me, this kind of thing wouldn't even exist. It's just too…"

"…Unpredictable?" The doctor smiled again as the agent realized the word had been picked from his thoughts.

"Let me tell you about your friend. He is something of a victim soul." Morgan's frown deepened. The doctor hastened to explain. "I don't mean in the religious sense. I mean that Aaron makes himself available and vulnerable, for the sake of others, in a way I've rarely seen." The deeper lines on Morgan's brow smoothed, acknowledging the truth of what he heard, as the old man continued.

"He has a combination of selflessness and humanitarianism that verges on the unhealthy." Morgan's frown returned. "I say that because the root of his generosity in risking himself on others' behalf is a bone-deep belief that he himself isn't as valuable as those he tries to save."

It was Morgan's turn to nod. His shoulders which had been tensed, relaxed, making him look less adversarial…more open to debate. "I know that. That's why he needs people around him who'll have his back. Not people…or _forces_…that'll jump into his brain when he's not looking."

The doctor appreciated this mans' genuine concern. He hoped that he'd be able to make him see the difference between _being_ attacked as opposed to _inviting_ attack.

"Your Aaron exercises free will. That is something that should never be taken away from him…even to save him."

Morgan was watching the old man closely. He had a feeling there was something important in this conversation that shouldn't be missed. And for a moment he hated that intuitive, unsubstantiated conviction. It was too reminiscent of the very powers this weird doctor represented.

"And, although you can protect him from much, you are helpless against the forces that are part of his world now…part of _all_ your worlds. Like it or not."

Morgan's lips compressed. He recognized the truth of what he was being told, but that didn't mean he had to like it…or even accept it. _Reid's part of those forces. Ana, too. They'll fight for him on __**their**__ level the same as I do on mine._

"That would be like using a band-aid to treat a severed limb. They aren't powerful enough; not against all that is out there, all that exists."

Morgan glowered. _I __**hate**__ thinking someone can read my mind. __**Hate**__ it._

The doctor smiled as companionably as he could in an attempt to defuse this man's hair-trigger reactions to the paranormal. "I do it only to demonstrate that you have very little to defend yourself…or your friends…against such abilities. But that doesn't mean you can't do more to protect your Aaron." He paused, hoping to gain the focus of all three agents.

"I'm listening." Morgan still sounded suspicious, as though this were a three-card monte dealer rather than an extraordinary physician.

The doctor locked eyes with each agent in turn before continuing.

"Make him believe in his own worth. Make him reevaluate risks before he takes them."

Glances were exchanged.

"How do we do that?" J.J. regularly fostered her son's self-esteem, but she didn't think the tactics of praise and hugs used on a toddler would work on her boss.

The doctor shook his head. "That's something you'll need to figure out. If I had the key to unlock a puzzle as complex as Aaron, I'd simply throw a switch and do it myself."

Privately…or at least he _hoped_ his thoughts were private this time…Morgan found the statement both truthful and frustrating. And about as much use as…_What did he say? A band-aid on a severed limb? Yeah. That about sums it up._ But the more he considered the doctor's words, the more he thought what Hotch needed was to be _shown_, not told, that he was accepted and valued. Just as he was.

A smile found its way onto Morgan's face as he recalled running into the Unit Chief that night he'd stayed late at the office. He resolved to be extra diligent in finding ways to support the man; ways that would bolster Hotch's view of his own place in the scheme of things.

_And if that means telling him I like his glittery, little, 'Aaron' hat, that's what I'll do. Hell, I might even get one myself._

The doctor kept his grin internal. He could see the male agent make the decision to at least be more cognizant of ways to find and heal Aaron's wounds in regard to his own inner worth. It was a start.

"Now, agents, if you'll excuse me, I have one more patient to see." His lip curled instinctively at the term 'patient.' When he turned toward the bathroom, everyone knew to whom the doctor was referring.

Hand on the doorknob, he paused, head lifting as though listening. He glanced over his shoulder. "You might want to order room service. When Aaron wakes, he'll need to eat."

Morgan stifled a shiver at the obvious precognition involved in the statement. His sigh was redolent with resignation as he picked up the menu from its convenient place by the phone and began looking down its list of offerings.

_I guess there's no escape from this weird, freaky stuff anymore._ His eyes lit up. _But at least there's pizza._

xxxxxxxxxx

The doctor closed the bathroom door behind him and surveyed the human wreckage sitting in the tub.

_How does a mind get so warped, go so far down the path of madness, without anyone noticing?_

He knew it was likely a gradual process, but his own sensitivity to thoughts and psychic emanations made it difficult for him to accept that a creature such as Bescardi could have functioned in the world, could have gotten so far, without her tremendous flaws being recognized _before_ she'd had a chance to hurt anyone.

He sighed and moved closer, taking a seat on the edge of the tub.

His presence didn't seem to register at all. The glassy, dark eyes didn't shift from their focus on the tiled wall. The jaw was slack. A thread of saliva hung from one corner of the wet lips, still sporting their deep, ruby lipstick.

Bracing himself for the possible putrescence of insanity, the doctor extended a tentative psychic tendril. He entered slowly, delicately. Once he was accustomed to the texture, the feel of the broken brain, he probed around, looking for signs of hope. If there was anything salvageable, he would, despite his feeling of repugnance, try to repair this mind.

For a moment he marveled at the damage. Melinda had produced a stunning blast of energy in protest of the woman's images of the child's parents and Aaron. For a brief second, the doctor wondered if Melinda's remarkable healing prowess might be useful in this situation. But he abandoned the idea. He wouldn't ask such a thing of a baby…or of _anyone_ really, who'd been so deeply offended by the thoughts within the ruined mind.

_Well, I'll just have to use my own country-doctor skills._

He found the cognitive processes first, and settled in for a long night's work.

_Maybe after that, I'll be able to tell if full restoration is possible._

xxxxxxxxx

But hours later, when enough of Bescardi's psyche had been repaired for the doctor to envision what it would be like if he continued, he stopped.

The primary motivating forces in the woman were revenge and greed. The overriding essences coloring her entire existence were contempt for the rest of humankind, and an unassailable belief in her right to supremacy. The doctor felt a twinge of sorrow, realizing he'd have to admit defeat.

_But maybe I can restore enough so she isn't in such a vegetative state._

He continued to mend and clean the damage. When he found an area with uncommonly strong light and strength to it, for a moment he brightened. Until he saw what it contained.

Images of Aaron being drugged and abandoned and forgotten; hopefully consigned to a nameless grave in the wilderness because it would benefit the woman's work. Watching it, the doctor understood how it could provoke Melinda into attacking.

It was when he opened his own psyche to the area, the memory, that his face hardened into a merciless mask. There was laughter and ridicule and amusement attendant on the fate the woman had imagined she'd engineered for Aaron.

She'd enjoyed it. Tremendously.

It was a favorite remembrance that she trotted out periodically for her private entertainment.

And she called Aaron 'watchdog.'

Worst of all, the doctor saw that she would do the same again. Would, in fact, _love_ to experiment on the lab animal 'watchdog.' And this would never change. In all the damage of the surrounding psyche, this one area survived because it was the deepest, truest manifestation of the woman's soul.

The doctor pulled back.

For a while he debated how to proceed. In the end he granted himself permission to punish rather than cure. He restored Bescardi enough to be aware of her surroundings, but he left her…disconnected. She would spend the rest of her life being aware that she was dependent on a world of lesser beings. She would need those she held in such utter contempt for every bodily function, for everything that would allow her life to continue.

She would hate that life. But she would have no choice, no chance, to end it.

And before he left this place, the doctor vowed to show her Aaron, the watchdog of her dreams.

Healthy, happy and very much her superior in every way.


	77. Flawed

When Hotch woke, he saw Rossi had been true to his word.

He hadn't left. He was still sitting in the chair pulled close to Hotch's bedside; slumped low in the seat, head fallen forward, chin on chest, as he dozed. One hand rested on the edge of the mattress, close to Hotch's own.

_He was holding my hand until he fell asleep._ The thought was tinged with surprise. No one had ever done that for him. When he was growing up, his mother had soon learned that if she comforted her son, or showed him any kindness, her husband would make sure she regretted it. She would have endured the punishment, but she wasn't the only target. Once the one offering comfort was suitably reprimanded with fists and kicks, the one _needing_ comfort was beaten, too.

Hotch had learned long ago the art of repression when it came to his formative years. As a child, when the nightmares woke him, he'd lie still, ignore the tears, and chant to himself _don't think about it…don't think about it…don't think about it…_ Now as the memories surfaced, he felt the familiar welling up of fear and quiet horror. Almost reflexively, he tamped his emotions down, breathing deeply and letting his head fall back onto the pillow. It was harder than usual to retain mastery over his emotions this time.

_It's just because I'm a little vulnerable to them right now. All this 'family' stuff and seeing Reid being such a good dad._ He closed his eyes. _Yeah, that's it. That's why it hit so suddenly, so hard, just now._

He was still lost in his silent battle for control, when something touched the hand that had known so little friendly contact. Hotch flinched and half-gasped, his first instinct being to snatch the hand away and curl in on himself in a protective, little ball. But he was very good at masking his reactions, even sudden ones. He'd had a lifetime to practice. It had been the primary focus, a necessary survival skill, of his childhood. So the only signs that managed to escape his iron will were the slight flexing of his fingers and the small intake of air.

Hotch opened his eyes.

Rossi was leaning over him, firmly gripping his hand. The older man's concern was written in every line of his face. "Bad dream?"

"No." Hotch studied his friend's eyes, not sure what he was looking for. After a moment, he decided he was checking to see if he could get away with hiding his feelings one more time. He couldn't.

Rossi's understanding sigh was sad. He gripped Hotch's hand more tightly, using his other to smooth the dark hair back from his friend's brow. "Give it time, Aaron. As old as that doctor says our connection is, it's still new to _us_." He gave a crooked smile. "Now, if it wasn't a bad dream…what was it?"

"Surprise. That's all." When Rossi clearly was waiting for more, Hotch added, "I just didn't expect you to be here."

The older man frowned. "Why not? I said I _would_ be when you woke up."

"I just figured you'd have other things to take care of. It's not a big deal, Dave."

Another sigh as Rossi read, with a profiler's skill, the deeper meaning in the words. "Too many people in your life that you should have been able to rely on have let you down, Aaron. Isn't that right?"

Uneasy silence was the only response.

"You should've been able to rely on love and support from your parents, but you couldn't. You should've been able to rely on Haley sticking with you 'for better or worse.' But she didn't. Hell, you should've been able to count on unequivocal support at work, but Strauss blind-sided you several times." Rossi could see his words hitting their target. Hotch's eyes were adopting their trademark don't-push-me glare, but within their depths, they were more bruised and defensive than challenging.

"And there are probably countless other instances throughout your life where you've been let down. So. Aaron." He leaned back in his chair. "Wha'd'ya think that kind of track record does to a man? Professionally speaking, of course." Rossi threw Hotch the bone of letting himself hide behind his credentials, rather than openly acknowledge he was speaking from the heart, from personal experience.

Instead of answering, Hotch levered himself up on his elbows. Before he could swing his legs around and assume a sitting position, Rossi moved. He was fast and he had the advantage of leverage. A hand on each shoulder, he pushed the Unit Chief back down.

"Whoa…where do you think you're going?"

"I'm getting up, Dave." When the older man didn't respond and the hands stayed firmly in place, Hotch gave a small sigh of exasperation. "We always have these talks when I'm lying down. I don't like that. Makes me feel like I'm on a therapist's couch."

"Well, maybe you _should_ be."

The momentary widening, and subsequent narrowing, of Hotch's eyes told Rossi that the idea of therapy was probably off the table; as least for the time being. The glare returned.

"I'm not crazy. My view of the world is just as…_valid_…as yours."

"I know that. I'm not questioning your world view, Aaron. I'm questioning your view of your _place_ in the world."

"Please let me up."

Tapping at the door made both agent's heads swivel in that direction. When it cracked open, Morgan's nose appeared. When he saw both men awake, the door opened wider. He took in the scene of Rossi pinning Hotch to the bed and cleared his throat.

"Uh…um…I…just wanted to let you guys know we've got some food out here…if you're …ya know…hungry…whenever you…ya know…finish…whatever you're…uh…doing."

"Sure. Be right out." Hotch grabbed at the opportunity to escape. But Rossi overrode him.

"Thanks, Derek. We're not quite done here."

"Sure. Sure." Morgan backed out of the room. He thought he saw a pleading look in Hotch's eye, but there was no way he was going to put himself in the middle of _whatever_ that was. He closed the door as quietly as possible.

Hotch and Rossi locked eyes as soon as he was gone.

Rossi was the first to go. It started with a twitching lip and advanced to a desperate attempt to muffle laughter. Hotch was right behind him. He managed to twist out from under the hands holding him down, but it was only so he could bury his face in a pillow while he felt his stomach muscles grow sore from unaccustomed hilarity.

When the fit passed, the younger agent gasped out a protest. "_Now_ see what you've done, Dave?"

"Wha…" Rossi was too breathless to manage more than half a syllable.

"Morgan…he…unicorn…glitter…_this…_" Hotch had to resort to the pillow again. When he came up for air, he was in no shape to continue any kind of argument. Weakened by laughter, he lay panting.

Rossi saw his opportunity; the man's guard was down. He spoke a little breathlessly, but with firm purpose.

"Hotch…Aaron…I know you're not crazy, but I also know that being betrayed and injured by the people who were supposed to be the center, the core, of your emotional safety…your emotional identity…I know that's hurt you." He put a hand back on Hotch's shoulder, but this time it wasn't for restraint; it was a gentle caress. "All I'm asking is that you take a look at yourself with that in mind. And if you want someone to talk it out with…I'm here."

The laughter had left Hotch's eyes. He levered himself up again and finally won his way to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. Rossi leaned forward from his seat in the chair, studying the downcast, thoughtful face.

When Hotch spoke, his voice was gentle and a little distant, coming from somewhere else in time, from somewhere deep inside.

"I know what you mean, Dave." He ran a hand through his hair; a gesture that made his cowlicks multiply with spiky abandon. "It's just…I've spent so much time trying _not_ to think about that kind of stuff. Asking me to talk about it…to share it…" He looked up into Rossi's eyes. "It's hard."

Rossi remained silent. He didn't want to do anything that would impede the flow of Hotch's words. They were only a trickle, and hard-won, but it was better than nothing. He settled for rubbing one slumped shoulder with a gentle, encouraging hand.

Hotch looked down again, a ghost of pain shadowing his face. "I've never said this out loud before. But…" Rossi's hand continued delivering its soothing support. "…It's just,…" He looked up, focusing eyes dark with tragedy on the older man. "If the people who know you best, don't want you…value you…love you…then…" The eyes dropped again; too ashamed to hold steady while revealing a life-long conviction. "…then…there has to be something essentially _un_lovable…value_less_…about you." The voice dropped even lower.

"They can't all be wrong, Dave."

Rossi didn't know what to say that hadn't already been said.

So he put his arms around Hotch and cinched him into a hug tight enough to verge on painful.

And then he hoped Morgan wouldn't walk in on them again.


	78. A Lesser Life

J.J. looked up as Morgan closed the door to the room where they knew Rossi was watching over Hotch.

"They awake?"

She was removing lids from serving dishes, revealing what looked like a sumptuous breakfast on the large, room service trolley. It was their second round of ordering. The first could have qualified as a very late dinner. Since then, hours had passed with no sounds issuing from either the bedroom or the bathroom where the doctor was closeted with Bescardi. They'd grabbed what sleep they could, but nerves and adrenaline were still running high. Food seemed like a better way to reenergize than rest.

"Uh…yeah. Yeah, they're awake." Morgan sounded distracted, eyes focused inward as he reviewed every bizarre, new facet of the Rossi-Hotch conundrum.

Prentiss and J.J. exchanged looks. "Something wrong? Morgan?" Prentiss had raided the mini-bar the night before, ostensibly to help her get some shut-eye, but now she had a slight headache and _really_ didn't want any new mystery rearing its ugly head.

Morgan pulled himself back to the present situation and company. "What? Oh…uh…no. No, everything's fine." But when he gave one more confounded glance in the direction of the bedroom, the ladies' eyebrows rose. They looked at each other again, exhibiting small, twin, mischievous smiles.

Prentiss couldn't resist. "I dunno, Morgan. By the look on your face, I'd say…hmmmmm…they're romping around in there, riding lavender unicorns…wearing little glitter hats. Am I right?"

That image finally snapped Morgan out of whatever train of thought was distancing him. His head snapped around to glare at his teammates. "Shut up, Prentiss."

Unfazed, Emily shrugged. "Just sayin'." She shifted gears as the aromas from the breakfast spread filled the suite. "So you say they're okay." Her glance found the bathroom door. "What about those guys in there?"

Morgan shook his head. "I'm _not_ checking them out. _You_ can, but that's one party I don't wanna crash."

J.J. sighed and handed a plate to Prentiss. "I'm just glad this place has more than one bathroom. I have a feeling housekeeping'll have their work cut out for them in there once we leave." She offered a plate to Morgan, gesturing toward the trolley for the agents to help themselves. "And speaking of leaving, what are we going to do to explain all this? The police are still on the case looking for a baby and whoever took her."

Morgan forked some sausages onto his plate. "I have some ideas, but it depends on what Reid has to say about it, and whatever's happening in…there." He threw another dark look toward the bathroom door.

xxxxxxxxxx

Rossi held onto Hotch until he felt some of his tension ease. There wasn't much else he could do. He'd told Hotch as well as he knew how that he was a loved, even cherished man. But the wounds inside his friend were too deep and too chronic for quick healing. They'd been opened again and again throughout his life. By now the man was practically composed of scar tissue.

_And telling him he's a worthwhile human being isn't going to cut through all that mess._ Rossi gave the body under his hands another affectionate squeeze. _Isn't it amazing how kind words can do so little to heal, but cruel ones can lacerate a man's soul and drive so deep he'll never be free of them._

He felt Hotch trying to pull away and eased him back, still keeping a grip on his upper arms. Rossi looked at the downcast eyes, the expressionless face, and gave a gusty sigh.

"Personally, Aaron, I think a long, hard cry would do you a world of good. But…that could just be the Italian in me." He was encouraged when Hotch's lips turned up ever so slightly.

"I'm not a crying kind of guy, Dave. Hate it when it happens."

"I know." Rossi gave Hotch a gentle shake before releasing him. "So, if you won't go for the good cry, how about some breakfast?"

Finally, with safe subject matter at hand, the Unit Chief raised his head. Lifting his nose in the direction of the door, his nostrils flared, detecting the presence of bacon, coffee, and other assorted, savory morning fodder.

"You're on." Hotch looked around the room before returning questioning eyes to Rossi. "Go-bags?"

"Probably still out there." He pointed his chin toward the door leading to the rest of the suite.

"Good." Hotch stood up, brushing at the wrinkles in his clothing. "Shower and change first…_then_ breakfast."

Rossi accompanied him to the door with a smile. _Leave it to Aaron to put good grooming before food. The guy could be starving…rescued off of a desert island…and he'd still make time to shave and put on a tie before anything else._

xxxxxxxxx

When the doctor emerged from his session with Bescardi, the rest of the agents were scattered around the suite.

Ana and Melinda were stationed in the living area with J.J. in attendance, discussing the various issues of motherhood. A freshly-shaved Hotch was putting a respectable dent in the offerings provided by room service. Reid, Rossi, Morgan, and Prentiss, having finished eating, were venturing different proposals for explaining to NYPD how, when, and where they'd found Melinda. What to do with Bescardi was something they couldn't decide without knowing her condition.

When the doctor appeared, conversation ceased, and curious eyes turned his way.

_Doctor? How is she? And __**however**__ she is, I don't want her in the same room with my wife and daughter…_

"Manners, telepath. Out loud, please." The old man looked weary and cast a longing glance toward the large urn of coffee holding pride of place on the service trolley.

Reid found it increasingly frustrating to have to resort to verbal speech when telepathy was so much faster, and so much more accurate a mode of communication. But his respect for this ancient man, who could make him feel like a clumsy child when it came to exercising his abilities, made him toe the line rather than argue in the name of expediency.

"I can safely say that woman won't endanger anyone ever again; not unless something miraculous happens to restore her." He cast a wary eye at the baby cuddled in Ana's arms. "But, considering the nature of things I've seen that child perform, perhaps I should take precautions that nothing miraculous _inadvertently_ happens."

He walked over to where Hotch was delving into a mound of scrambled eggs.

"Look at me, son." The doctor took the slightly surprised face between his palms. "Shhhh…" He hushed not only the Unit Chief, but the others as well.

In the resulting silence, he inspected his patient. After a few minutes, the grave look on his face morphed into a smile. "You slept well. You feel good. And I see your dreams were visited…." He looked over his shoulder at mother and baby. "…by a little angel who wanted to be sure her godfather wasn't unhappy with her."

Hotch's wide-eyed expression demanded an explanation…as did everyone else's.

The doctor's unfaltering smile was a reassuring counterpoint to words that unsettled. "Little Melinda healed you, Aaron. And I might add she's _very_ sorry for causing you any discomfort. You are one of her favorite people. She loves you deeply." He released Hotch's face, allowing him to finish chewing the mouthful of eggs this inspection had interrupted.

Morgan was keeping close watch on the proceedings. "_She_ healed him. A _baby_ healed Hotch."

"Let it go, Derek…" Rossi spoke close to his ear, sotto voce. Knowing this was one of those 'freaky' things best left unexplored, Morgan did as advised, shifting uneasily to place the service trolley between him and the doctor.

The elderly man continued, eyes fastened on Hotch. "The catalyst to the healing was a discussion we had, psyche to psyche." Morgan backed off another couple of feet. "I believe it made enough of an impression on the child, so that she'll respect your privacy from now on." The wrinkles devoted to mirth deepened. "And if she should slip, there's no one better to put you right again. So…" He reached down, pulled Hotch's wrist up and, in one smooth motion, slipped off the bracelet Julio Ruiz had made.

"Are you sure about that?" Rossi could hear the echo of Hotch's words…_I never want to go through that again_… They had been fervent. The more precautions they could take to keep the man's mind safe, the better, in Rossi's opinion.

The doctor nodded. "I would not risk Aaron's health or sanity unless I were." Holding the talisman up, he tilted his head from side to side, inspecting the workmanship and materials. "Of course, this was made with Aaron in mind, but its primary purpose was to deter Melinda…to slow her down long enough for her to recall that her godfather was off limits when it came to psychic wandering."

He smiled and turned back toward the bathroom. "Let's hope it does the same for that unfortunate woman. Melinda knows how to heal now. I don't want her testing her new abilities on someone best left…lesser…than other human beings."

Reid bent his head toward Ana. _Ironic. Bescardi always thought of herself as __**better**__ than the rest of us. It'd kill her if she knew the tables had been turned on her…if anyone considered her __**lesser**__._

The doctor glanced back toward the young couple. _Exactly. And so she shall remain._

Both Reid and Ana shivered. They'd thought the old man's compassion, patience, and kindliness to be depthless…endless.

Apparently, they weren't.


	79. Rossi's First Time

It took some orchestrated hacking and phone work to cover up the true nature of Melinda's kidnapping and rescue.

Garcia and J.J. did most of the heavy lifting, preparing paper and digital trails that would make it look as though their team had been called in by NYPD. A little cooperation from New York's boys in blue helped once Rossi called in some favors from contacts deep within the system. He assured Reid that his friends knew the importance of discretion and hadn't asked for details, but the young father was still a bundle of nerves. The sooner he could get his family back home, the better.

During the hours it took for wheels to be put in motion, and for the stage to be set for disposal of Bescardi, the group remained behind closed doors in their suite.

It had been decided that, when the time was right, they would escort their unsub down to the street and find an anonymous alley in which to deposit her. The official story of a childless woman on the edge of insanity to begin with, who had taken a baby to raise as her own, would be put forth as the motive. Morgan and Prentiss were the chosen duo to 'find' the baby, but Reid put his foot down more firmly than anyone thought he could.

Melinda would _not_ be taken out of his sight. He would accompany the other two agents and would allow EMTs called to the scene to examine his daughter. But he would exert whatever influence he had, and throw his slight weight around, if necessary, to keep her in the safety of his arms.

Ana agreed wholeheartedly. It took a great deal of arguing to convince her to stay behind. They didn't want any overly-observant cop wondering why the baby's mother was on site. As it was, they would avoid any mention of Bescardi's true intentions and wouldn't bring her previous connection to the Reids, Hotch and Rossi to light.

With the bones in place, the team waited while J.J. and Garcia put the FBI's official fingerprint on the entire gambit.

When conversation lagged, each agent took refuge in his or her own thoughts. Ana and Reid were completely absorbed in their own little world, still nuzzling their baby to make sure she was really, truly over her ordeal.

After a while, Hotch went to one of the windows and gazed out at the view. His eyes were distant. It didn't look as though he were really seeing the street or the park across from the hotel. Morgan glanced around, but no one was paying much attention. He rose and went to Hotch's side with quiet steps. He kept his voice low, partly for privacy and partly to avoid startling a man who wasn't quite present, judging by the look of him.

"Hotch?"

Despite Morgan's care, the Unit Chief's body jerked. But the signs were minimal; just a slight movement, a stiffening that was quickly arrested. He turned his head to meet his subordinate's cautious look.

"Are you okay, man?" Morgan rarely touched Hotch unless it was to restrain him when he became too passionate for his own good on the job, or to work on his muscles with the intention of easing physical injury. And, although something about the man cried out for everyone to respect his privacy, something also cried out that he was a little lost and traveling through a vulnerable time. Morgan risked a hand on his boss' back. He was relieved when Hotch didn't shrug it off or morph into his wolf-eyed glare.

"I'm fine." He looked around the suite at the Reids, clearly involved in telepathic communication. Their lively facial expressions were almost enough to follow the gist of the wordless conversation. Off to one side, the old doctor and Rossi were engaged in what looked like an intense discussion. Hotch brought his eyes back to Morgan's.

"I know this kind of thing isn't easy for you, Morgan. Believe me when I say I understand how this paranormal stuff can throw you some curves."

Since Hotch seemed open to the subject, Morgan decided to take the plunge. He settled his hand more firmly between the narrow shoulder blades, thinking, if he was off limits, he'd likely feel Hotch's reaction in his posture before he'd learn about it verbally.

"Hotch…Rossi told me something. About you. And him."

Silence, but the spine beneath his palm pulled itself a fraction straighter.

"What do you mean?"

Morgan shifted his weight and this time he did touch his boss with the intent of giving supportive reassurance. The hand on Hotch's back rubbed up and down a few times. "Rossi said…Rossi said that you're his son." After a few beats… "Are you?...Hotch?...His son?"

Hotch returned his focus to the view out the window, giving a sigh so deep the hand on his back felt the frame beneath it swell, and then settle. He shook his head a few times. "I don't know any more than you do, Morgan. This whole ESP thing is out of my league. But some really strange things have happened…" He glanced to where Rossi was still talking to the odd, old man who'd brought some comfort, but a great deal of uncertainty into their lives. "…and Rossi seems to think so. Me? I just don't know for sure. Don't think there's any way to _be_ sure." He shot Morgan a sideways look. "What do you think? About all this…reincarnation stuff."

It was Morgan's turn to gaze out the window and shake his head, looking distant. "I don't know, man." Neither spoke for a few minutes. Then Morgan seemed to come to a decision.

"Hotch, I think there's always been a special bond between you and Rossi. Everyone can see it. I don't think it matters what you wanna call it. I think…" He took a deep breath, gathering himself to take a stand. "I think you need a father, 'cause I know some of what you've been through and 'cause I know what it's like to grow up without one." His voice grew a little tighter, sincerity bringing a lump into his throat. "Doesn't matter that you're all grown up and you're our big, bad, boss-man. If you get a chance to have a father…take it." The hand on Hotch's back gave a slap, punctuating the statement. "That's what I think, Hotch."

As Morgan walked away, Hotch glanced toward Rossi.

He was inclined to agree.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Your son is a very…grounded…man." The old doctor had taken a seat in a chair close to the one Rossi occupied.

The older agent looked at Hotch standing by one of the tall windows, engaged in conversation with Morgan. "That's part of what makes him a good leader. He doesn't go flying off half-cocked."

"It also prevents him from accepting a reality he can't prove."

Rossi sighed. "You mean the whole reincarnation issue." The old man nodded, but didn't speak. "Would you be surprised to know how much _I've_ accepted it? Despite being the one with the stricter, religious upbringing?" Rossi glanced at the doctor and saw the small, amused smile. "No. You can read minds and God knows what else. Nothing surprises you."

"That's not true." The voice was quiet, and deep with feeling. "That child, Melinda, surprised me in ways I didn't think possible. And Aaron has surprised me…as have you."

"Me?"

"I didn't think you'd accept him as your son."

Rossi frowned, genuinely puzzled. "Why not? He's perfect. He's a great son."

"You told me once you didn't believe in such things because you didn't _want_ to. You didn't _want_ my reality to be yours."

Rossi nodded, acknowledging the truth of the statement. He looked toward Aaron again and sighed. "I needed time to see past everything I've been taught. And how else do you explain a platonic love for a man that's so strong? I would give my life for him. I want him to succeed more than I want success for myself. I want him to be happier than I've ever been. I want _more_ of everything for him." Rossi looked down at his own hands. "I just needed time."

"So does he. Give it to him." The doctor leaned toward Rossi, accentuating the importance of his words. "Aaron doesn't doubt _you_. He loves you. It's himself he doubts. It's himself he doesn't love. _That's_ the reluctance you sense in him."

Rossi nodded again. He glanced once more toward Hotch. Morgan was walking away from him. Hotch's dark eyes looked up, found his…and lingered. Rossi smiled. Aaron reciprocated, but on _his_ face, the expression was tinged with sadness.

xxxxxxxxx

"It's time, guys." J.J. thanked Garcia and packed away the laptop. "Everything's as set as it's gonna get." She scanned the roomful of people. "So let's do this."

Reid took Melinda into his arms, whispering and sending thoughts of reassurance, and promises of her safety to Ana. The young mother recognized the necessity of what they were about to attempt, but letting go of her daughter was one of the hardest things she'd ever had to do. It felt as though she'd only just gotten her back. She wasn't ready.

_You __**both**__ better come back to me, Spencer._

_We will. I promise. With all my heart, I promise._ He looked at the doctor, watching, and no doubt listening, to their telepathy. _Besides, the doctor will be with you until we return. He'll be able to tell what's happening. He'll keep in touch._ Reid turned to the old man. _You __**will**__, won't you?_

_I will._ He sighed. _But remember, telepath, __**out loud**__ for Melinda's sake. She must learn to behave properly around non-ESP-ers. It will be essential for her safety in years to come._

Reid smiled, kissed his wife and, holding his baby close to his chest, went to stand with Prentiss and Morgan, ready to hit the streets.

Emily gave Morgan a wry look. "You wanna flip a coin…see who has to go get Princess Charming in there?" She inclined her head toward the bathroom.

"Allow me." The doctor surprised them by taking the initiative. "There's something I want to do before she and I take our leave of each other."

Curious looks were exchanged while sounds of clumsy, shuffling progress came from the now open bathroom door. When the doctor appeared, steering a swaying, dull-looking Bescardi, he motioned for Hotch to come closer. The Unit Chief did so, nostrils twitching with distaste; the ex-doctor had a rather ripe odor about her. Two feet from her, the doctor placed a hand on Hotch's chest, halting him. He addressed Bescardi directly.

"I'm sure you recognize this man, don't you, my dear?" The woman's eyes blazed with hate and frustration. "You thought yourself so superior." The doctor shook his head in sad resignation. "You've made so very many mistakes, but perhaps the most fatal one was to mistake a _wolf_…for a watchdog."

By now nearly everyone could see the lively intelligence trapped behind Bescardi's glare. They were beginning to realize the terrible depth and scope of the punishment she would endure for the rest of her life.

The doctor patted Hotch and, motioning to Morgan to come take the woman, said his final piece. "So, in whatever state sanitarium the penal system sees fit to deposit you, rest assured…the wolf you misjudged will be running quite free and happy with his pack for a very, very long time." The kindly, old eyes had ice chips in their depths. "Something for you to think about. Goodbye, my dear."

Morgan took Bescardi's arm. Prentiss and Reid, with Melinda snuggled against him, followed him out of the suite.

xxxxxxxxx

It was only about an hour and a half later that the three agents and the child returned. But to Ana it seemed like centuries. It wasn't until Reid deposited Melinda into her care and keeping that she relaxed and was able to believe that the whole, horrible nightmare was well and truly over.

Morgan's authoritative, alpha presence had taken charge at the 'crime scene.' Bescardi had been taken into custody with curled lips and rubber gloved hands, in deference to her new inability to maintain her personal hygiene. In the ensuing flurry of activity, Morgan had made sure that the EMTs let the baby be handed over to the young FBI agent who stood by, looking anxious.

When the arresting officer shook his head at Bescardi's apparently mindless state, Prentiss clucked her tongue, shrugged, and said that the woman had to have been crazy already to kidnap the child. "She just went over the edge…snapped. Bound to happen sooner or later, I guess." The officer nodded, sympathetic to the fragility of the human mind.

J.J. paid especially close attention to the tale when everyone returned. On the flight home, she and Garcia would make sure any additional subterfuge needed to cover their trail would be in place before any questions could arise.

As the group exited the hotel, ready to take the limo Rossi had hired back to the airstrip where the jet waited, the doctor hesitated.

Rossi looked at him, brows raised. "Can we give you a lift?" he asked, joking. Everyone expected the old man to accompany them. And then arrangements would be made to deliver him back to his sanctuary.

Apparently, he had other plans.

"I don't think so…but thank you." He smiled and looked up at the night sky. "I think I'll stay for a while. Been meaning to get out for some time now. This is an excellent place to start."

Confounded, the group exchanged glances. Rossi took the initiative again.

"Are you sure? Maybe you could come back with us?" He stepped closer. "I don't feel right about leaving you here. After all you've done for us, it's like…_abandoning_ you."

The doctor's rich laugh dispelled their concerns. "I assure you, I'm well able to take care of myself. _And_ well provided for. Don't worry about me."

He walked up to Hotch and embraced him. "Take care of yourself, Aaron. Be kind to yourself." The doctor released him and stepped back. "But, if you need me again, I'll be sure to purchase a phone first thing tomorrow. I'll leave my number and any other contact information, as it becomes known, with that brightly-colored lady who looks after you all."

Reid came closer with Ana by his side, Melinda in his arms. "What do you mean 'as it becomes known?' Where are you going? Do you know?"

The doctor's smile widened. "I plan on traveling a bit, once I get a little more acclimated to this noisy, troublesome world. Actually…" His eyes crinkled with warmth. "…I think I might visit Las Vegas. I think I might drop in on your mother, telepath."

Reid's jaw dropped. His eyes filled with hope and tears. _Thank you, doctor. Thank you. For so much…for everything…Thank you._

_Out loud, telepath…Remember your manners._

xxxxxxxxx

True to his word, the doctor left ongoing contact information with Garcia. Although they hoped it wouldn't be necessary to use it, it was reassuring to have it on hand.

Cases came and went. So did consultations.

Melinda behaved admirably and, the following spring, reached out a gentle, psychic tendril to Reid when he conducted his morning ritual of staring into her eyes, now exactly the same color as his, and inviting her into his mind. Both parents were ecstatic.

Reid was joyfully distracted sending thoughts to his baby, rendering him useless at work for the rest of the week.

But even such miraculous things become less extraordinary with daily occurrence. Life returned to normal.

Hotch and Rossi spent more time in each other's company. Recalling the doctor's words about his friend's self-doubt, Rossi was patient. He decided he'd always treasure that one time Hotch had emerged from a disorienting sleep and called him 'Dad,' but he stopped expecting more.

xxxxxxxx

June was fine and hot and beautiful that year. About halfway through the month, Rossi was relaxing at home with a glass of wine and a manuscript he was working on with no particular deadline in mind. The knock at the door puzzled him. It was a Sunday. The team had the whole weekend off. He wasn't expecting anyone.

When he opened the door, Hotch was on the steps, looking a little nervous.

"Aaron? Is something wrong?" Rossi took the younger man's arm and pulled him into the marble foyer. Hotch continued to look down, but Rossi could swear a smile was trying to make its uncertain way onto the stoic features. He placed the fingers of one hand under the chin, forcing the head up and the eyes to meet his. "Aaron?"

Hotch took a deep, steadying breath. "I'm sorry to drop in like this, Dave, but…" He swallowed. "I've never done this before, so…I hope it's okay." He extracted an envelope from his pocket and placed it in Rossi's hand. Before the older man could react, he'd let himself out and was striding down the steps. But Rossi noticed he stopped and sat on the bottom one…waiting.

Frowning, he looked at the envelope. When he tore it open, his heart expanded with a joyous, bounding, bouncing feeling.

David Rossi had just received his very first Father's Day card. The best part was the handwritten 'I love you, Dad….Aaron'

He took a moment to get himself under control.

Then he went out to thank his son…and tell him how much he loved him.


End file.
